La Vie Boheme!
by Angela Rosela
Summary: New to the world and steadfast to their values, those who live under the daughter of Earth, Bohemia, try to live life with what they love as they struggle to care for each other. However, all is put to the test when their rent lease is cut short, and they need money to stay alive whilst sickness rots them away. Can they really make it or will they succumb to the suits? IAMP-centric
1. Fourth Floor 1 RENT

**Chapter One: Fourth Floor 1 RENT**

The streets were paved with the dim light of dusty grey dawn, creeping softly over dark rigid buildings jutting out of the ground like cliffs against the sea side. It danced, the light did, around the dark squares and through the brick curves, accompanying the light and breezy fall of an ivory winter's day. The glow bounced off each individual snowflake, merrily making its 'good mornings' to the patrons below, despite the looming clouds above them.

Buildings began to awaken, or in opposition, began to fall asleep, lantern flames turning on or off respectively at the turn of the day and night. The street was abuzz with tedious activities of routine behind darkly painted walls held up by wooden beams of little strength. It was a far cry from the majestic mansions and skyscrapers of the central metropolises, but in these suburban settings, it made do for those who dwelled in their humble abodes. All the buildings were the same, even around the block – tall, but not tall enough to touch the sky, stencil square with borders of heavily cut brick to symbolize the separation of each floor, windows lined with dust red brick and a little windowsill, although the fire escapes jutted out to ruin such sills, and all painted in the color of dull dirt. Really, they were all the same unless you counted the carefully painted graffiti on some or the lazily placed posters with their pieces torn on the sidewalk. Still, this ransacked dump was home to many, and they made do with the little that they have.

Snow began to layer on the icy ground, erasing the pathways in the midst of the walkers. True that it didn't snow very often in its' namesake city, but this January was one of the coldest winters it has had thus far, having a heavy effect on those who live on its outskirts. People shrugged their coats on tighter around thin and fragile frames, dipping their heads into their scarves or pulling their hat lower across their face.

Oliver was one of the few who didn't do so, he couldn't really. He braved the cold in what used to be a pressed shirt, a dust-red tie and a gigantic 3/4th sleeved shirt with _'Toronto Maple Leafs' _written in big azure blue script followed by its logo. In truth, it was a present given to him by his late father although he still hasn't 'grown into it' as the older man had claimed his son would. Oliver was still small, despite being of average height. He never gained much muscle mass, unless working in front of a typewriter allowed such to be gained. It's not that he was a disappointment to his father, it was just the fact that the man was saddened his son didn't choose to run the family company, instead abandoning it to become an aspiring playwright. It didn't really get him anywhere though. Try as he might, he never got the opportunity to be showcased, even for something as small as an indie play festival, despite the one skit that gave him fifteen minutes of fame on the tabloids. Now, they wanted him, and he had just returned from a hassling interview about it with three days to come up with an answer. Oliver had always said he would rather die than work at a tabloid news show prepared to use his carefully thought lines for a cheap recorded laugh. He shivered at the thought of it happening. The cold winter breeze wrapped itself around Oliver momentarily, causing him to shiver even more. He cursed himself for grabbing suit pieces to stuff in a briefcase the moment he decided to run away and not have money to buy new clothes since. He quickened his pace to something between a walk and a run, eager to return to his apartment and hopefully warm up by an oil drum turned fireplace.

What he found when he got to the front of his complex door made the temperature around him drop to what he deemed to be in the negative. There, pasted repeatedly on the front of the chipping forest green door, was the notice he didn't want to see that very day.

_420 Eagle Street  
Freedom City, AJ_

_Date: January 2, XXXX_

_**All Tenants**__ of  
13 Village Street,  
Snow City, MW_

_This is to notify you of the failure to pay the yearly rent of your apartment on December 31, XXXX for the apartments addressed 13 Village Street, Snow City, as you have been rendered in violation of the lease agreement dated January 1, XXXX, the previous year. The amount due for payment sums up to $5000._

_You are hereby requested to pay the above-mentioned amount within 7 working days or vacate the premises. Failure to do so will compel me to file an eviction suit against you. Your cooperation will be appreciated._

_Sincerely,  
Mr. Alfred. F. Jones_

He stood there numb for a few seconds, pushing back blond locks and the one angry curl that seemed to rebel against the rest of his hair, just to see clearer. Pushing his red rimmed glasses upwards, blue eyes read the notice again, and again. It wasn't a dream, the tenants were really being evicted – him being one of the thirteen who called the trash dump home. With numb fingers, he ripped a copy from the door, slamming it open to make his way to the top floor and to his apartment.

_How could they?_ He thought irritably, words already forming in his head of what to say to the landlord when he does come to evict them personally. _How could he and his lackeys decide to turn against the two year agreement and make us pay? Sure, we've been saving it for months, but a year for five thousand dollars? He promised that for two years! We should be paying half, max! _Oliver outwardly and wordlessly growled to vent his frustrations about the backstabbing corporation, another reason why he ran away from home; who in their right mind would stand for the lies and the betrayal of _those_ cash swindlers? Their corporal greed could rot a hole in the ozone layer if they even remotely gave a damn. Evicted? Evicted his Ontarian ass, they broke the contract, and for good reasons he could take them to court with it if he wanted to. Of course, he'd have trouble paying the lawyers who were just as bad as the corporation. He gave out another frustrated sigh.

The blonde slowed his ascend on the stairs as he neared the makeshift door of his apartment, a metal sheet that folded and slid across to reveal a panoramic view of the building in front and dull grey skies. His apartment was generally one big floor space with a kitchen to the side and the bathroom just behind it. Of course, it was kept padlocked, and Oliver mentally cursed himself as he propped down his briefcase on the floor to search his slacks pockets for the key. Finding none, Oliver found his temperament increasing as the dawn wears on into a new day. With apt, he knocked on the door, hoping that the man who shared his apartment, a feisty Quebecker (Québécois, he'd correct his Anglo-Canadian 'friend') who fancied himself as Jean, would be _kind_ enough to open the door for him.

"Jean? Jean! Open the door!" he called out, not even caring for the tones of irritation in his voice. He wanted that door opened, and he wanted it open now. From inside, he heard a reply, a whining bark from the Labrador yap that Jean and he picked up from the street on the way back from the former's workstation. Oliver could hear it paw at the door, as if its little feet could open up the metal sheet. Jean's just probably too lazy to open the door himself and had to send a lapdog to do it. Oliver huffed and pounded a fist at the door. "Jean! Come on, this isn't funny!" he almost snarled, but still he got no reply.

Labrador, who was so cleverly named by the kid in the apartment next door, barked again, opening the makeshift door just as slither. In his anger, Oliver didn't realize that the lock wasn't there at all. He hurried inside, a tinge of worry pooling in his stomach, even though he wasn't sure why. With a sense of urgency, the blonde looked for the absent apartment tenant. It wasn't often that the other was missing, unless of course he decided to leave earlier for work. Absentmindedly, Oliver glanced over to the kitchen area. No, Jean didn't leave for work, the pocket square he would adamantly take wherever he went was still present on its hook by the utensils.

"Jean?" he called out again, desperation leveling in his voice. Maybe the Québécois was playing a cruel trick on him, making him worry like this. Maybe he wasn't, but it wasn't above the proud man to do this to Oliver.

Labrador tugged at the blonde's black slacks, pleading eyes and distressed whine earning the Ontarian's attention. Blue eyes stared into brown ones, and the little tuff of yellow fur headed in the direction of the kitchen, disappearing where the counters jutted out. Carefully, though quickly, Oliver followed the dog, and sure enough he found his roommate – who was _not_ playing a cruel trick on him after all.

Jean was playing a cruel trick on himself.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello and welcome to the first fanfiction I have written in a while! This here is very much so inspired by the 'i am matthewian project' and the amazingly perfect Canadian provinces and territories of darling Sherry Lai (also known as ctcsherry). I have written about them in the past, but never as a solo project, so here goes, right? Haha.

This little piece was inspired and loosely based on the fantastic musical of RENT, of which I adore to high heaven. It also takes place in a completely alternative AU where places that don't exist exist, and places that do exist sometimes don't. For example, MW and AJ states are fake but they acknowledge the existence of Quebeckers and Ontarians (and all Canadian Provinces and Territories). This is mostly early 2000's, but still modern times, so yeaaah.

Anyway, I hope you stick around for the rest of "La Vie Bohéme!" and enjoy reading the chapter!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	2. Fourth Floor 2 RENT

**Chapter Two: Fourth Floor 2 RENT**

"Oh my god, Jean!"

It played out in his mind how the little tin that Jean kept his cigarettes in, slid from the counter to the floor, scattering the rolled sticks around the Québécois who was lying unconscious on the wood polished boards. Oliver was quick to remove his oversized shirt to place it over Jean, dismissing the fact he would freeze himself to death. Sure enough, he was starting to feel the cold through the thin fabric of his white button up, teeth chattering as his body tried to keep his internal temperature constant. He _never_ lends his Maple Leaf shirt to anyone, its value was that great to Oliver, but he figured that helping Jean was more important than his pride in clothes. Eyes scanned over the other man as the blond cradled his head over one arm, his other hand brushing away ash brown hair sticking to his forehead.

"Jean?" he coaxed gently, even though his heart was beating frantically in his ribcage. The other man's breathing was shallow, and despite Oliver calling his name repeatedly to stir him, even so far as to shake him slightly, the Québécois wouldn't open his eyes. Oliver pulled a sleeve over his hand to wipe the sweat from the other man's face, even more so reiterating his name to wake him. Panic rose in Oliver's throat like a lump with every second that Jean didn't respond to his voice or actions. Surprisingly, as much as he dislikes his roommate, the idea of Jean dead didn't sit right with Oliver.

There were thunderous roars of footsteps as someone slammed open the metal sheet, and out of the corner of Oliver's eye, a mop of red hair tucked untidily under a fire truck red hat, and a blue-green kilt graced his peripheral vision. Oliver turned his blue eyes towards the door to confirm his suspicions.

"Joel!" he shrieked without thinking, and immediately green eyes met his watery blue ones. The red head blinked but quickly got wind of the situation. Here was Oliver Stanley cradling an unconscious Jean Tremblay, both of whom were his former roommates, and god knows what the Québécois had inhaled to cause himself grievous bodily harm. The blonde was physically too weak to lift the other man up, and Joel took it upon himself to lay Jean on the couch. Oliver raced to grab a strip of cloth and wet it to place on Jean's forehead.

"Is he going to be alright?" the blonde asked, mopping up more sweat from the unconscious man's face as soon as Joel put him down. The redhead nodded and gave Oliver a reassuring smile.

"This is _Jean_, laddie. He'd be fine." Joel comforted the blonde, giving him a pat on the back to which the other man gave him a weary grin. True to the Nova Scotian's word, the brunette on the couch began to stir, eyelids fluttering open to reveal hazy hazel orbs. The Ontarian let go of a breath he didn't know he held. It was as if a great weight was lifted off of him and he couldn't be happier for the moment. Joel smiled and gave Oliver the '_I told you so'_ wink.

"I'll leave you two to it then." The Nova Scotian laughed, making his way to a merry exit. But as soon as he shut the door behind him, he sighed. Oliver and Jean, especially Oliver, would be pooling their money together to assist in Jean's recovery on top of the crazy rent rate they were issued a few minutes ago. He scrunched up the same piece of paper in his hand. It was no use turning to these two for help when they were in just as bad a situation as he was. Joel slowly made his way to the second apartment on the floor – his apartment, the one he shared with his long time girlfriend Marie who he affectionately calls Bonnie, his little half sister and their son Benjamin. He tried to put on a brave smile and carefree demeanor, but in truth, the last few months have been a real downer on not only himself but the people he considered family. Playing the fiddle on the corner of the street for loose change doesn't cover for the four of them in a week, let alone the rent for a year. Joel rubbed his eyes for fear of tears slipping from them. Brave face, he chanted to himself. A brave face, he must remember that.

He opened the door a slither, not wanting to startle a probably sleeping Marie. He was right. In all her tired glory, she was asleep on their only tattered leather armchair, elbow propped up on the chair's arm, her head leaning on her hand. In her lap was a dozing Benjamin who happily drank from his Sippy Cup whilst cradled in Marie's half embrace. Joel smiled, studying the blond curls of Marie's cascading in waves down to her shoulders, the usual red ribbons cast aside on the shelf. Underneath the big black fur coat was the dress that he had given her for her birthday a few years ago. He had chosen it especially because he noticed the way she ogled at the dress and smile sadly at the price tag. It took him two months and half but he saved and cut down on the liquor enough to be able to afford it. She wore it as often as she could along with the sun necklace that he gave her for their anniversary one year. If Joel had the money, he would spoil his girl until she didn't know what to do with herself. But Marie was not that kind of person, she was an independent and bright woman whose blue eyes sparkled when she spoke.

Benjamin inherited those baby blues from Marie. He was a surprise to the pair of them, a struggle for a few months, but a beautiful serendipitous bundle of joy when he came. Though he carried a different last name – O' Reilly – for the sake of erasing his familial background, it couldn't be denied that he had Marie's eyes and blond hair and Joel's lopsided grin. It had been a while since his birth, and soon Benjamin would be celebrating his fourth birthday. Joel made a mental note to get his son a present when he could, which also meant he needed to put money aside again. If anything, he blamed himself for the conditions that they were living in now. He wished that their feuding families just decided to get along, instead of throwing a tantrum when the McCain heir fell pregnant because of the Mackenzies' careless boy. If only that happened, then maybe they wouldn't be stuck in such a predicament. Yet they bore through it like a family, even taking in Joel's half sister Anne, when her mother, Ms. Montgomery, threw her out on the street as soon as she became a liability and their father refused to support his bastard daughter. Broken as they were, he tried to be the glue that would hold their make shift family together. He squeezed his hand tighter, crushing the eviction notice in his palm.

"Are ye gonna come in, or am I jus' lettin' the cold in?" his sister whispered, snapping the redhead out of his reverie. He failed to notice equally feisty green eyes as his and flaming red hair tied in twin pigtails staring at him from his height – which to say was a head and half shorter than him. He smiled a dopey grin.

"I was just checkin'." He reasoned, which wasn't far from the truth, but it wasn't far from a lie either. Anne stepped out and shut the door behind her, smoothing out her tattered green smock and dirt stained apron, pushing down white sleeves from her collared shirt underneath. The cold was beginning to settle outside and both of them knew that. It wasn't hard to miss the layers of snow on the fire escape.

"Listen, bruthe'…" Anne started, "I saw the 'viction letter. If it helps, I can go find me own place-"

"No." was Joel's abrupt reply, not even allowing the girl to finish her sentence. His eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"Anne, you're barely twelve, I'm not about to let you go out there by yourself." He told her firmly, giving her a stern look to prevent her questioning even further. He knew he had good grounds to persuade Anne, but the Prince Edward Island born and raised cherub could be stubborn to a T against all rational causes.

"If it helps." She said adamantly. The Nova Scotian voiced his disappointment in her stubbornness, even though they both knew she was right. The living conditions they existed in were shoddy, and maybe if Anne left, the money that is used on her can be used to help Benjamin. God knows they needed the money, especially right now. The thought was backed up with Benjamin's coughs and wails, Marie stirring from her sleep to help her son. That cough hadn't left Ben for half a year now and wasn't likely to leave without treatment. So far, this thought had been neglected by other priorities that helped them survive day to day. Joel sighed.

"We can get through this without ye leaving." He retaliated to her look, giving her his bright signature lopsided grin. "And besides, I was jus' about t'go 'n' collect the money t' pay off rent."

Anne's green eyes went wide and she smiled with enough brightness to mirror his false one. What kind of trouble did Joel get himself into, he doesn't know for certain, but he was damn well going to make sure there wouldn't be trouble.

"Now, run along and keep Benj outta trouble, 'kay?" he whispered. With a nod and an acknowledging grin knowing that she doesn't have to fend for herself out there alone, Anne returned inside and waved his brother goodbye. Despite it all though, she still felt a twinge of sadness in her sigh. How long will it be until the money Joel collects catches up to them? Sure, there's the trouble of rent, but what about Benjamin's medicine and how long they could afford to have it— if they even can afford to have it. And with Marie falling to the illness too, will they even afford to have a place to stay by the end of the year? The young redhead sighed. This is too much to think about for a girl who's twelve and going on thirteen. But she knew in her mind she was right. Like it was pointed out, she was almost thirteen now and can fend for herself. She can clean, work and cook, and she's done great thus far. Speaking of which, she pulled up the sleeves of her white blouse, washing her hands and her knife to begin chopping potatoes for a soup lunch. As if they had anything else in the apartment to cook.

Joel lingered by the door a moment longer, listening to the sound of the tap and Anne beginning her lunch routine – mash potatoes for Benjamin, and watered potato soup for herself, Marie and him. She did this every day without fail, seeing as Joel and Marie were too tired when they return from work to stay awake long enough to make lunch. In fact, they would be at such a loss without Anne. Joel kept the thought in the back of his mind in case she did decide to go through with her plan. Other things were at the forefront of his head at that moment, like trying to pull through with his own word.

He sighed.

Maybe the other patrons downstairs could help him out.

He hoped they could.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello again! The second chapter, I wager is not as good as the first, but hey ho, look who's present in this story! Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, PEI and Newfoundland (Labrador made an appearance in the last chapter) make an appearance, and although Joel (NS) is quite out of character in this chapter, I assure you it's for good reasons - as listed above - although very sad reasons. And yes, I did create a family situation because I thought it would be an interesting twist.

Ah, but bless, I made it this far, I am already working on the next chapter, so enjoy this one! In the next one, the Prairie Brothers - Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta - are making their appearance (bonus appearance for British Columbia). Will Joel find the money to help his family? Will Anne have to move away? And what the flying fiddlesticks happened to Jean? And why is Oliver touchy feely? Find out in the next (and probablu next next next) installment of "La Vie Bohéme!"

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	3. Third Floor RENT

**Chapter Three: Third Floor RENT**

Lazily plucking away at his three year old guitar, a blonde tried to paint the picture of a dull winter morning with the notes of each handpicked string, reverberating throughout the half empty apartment he shared with his two friends. Those friends were currently either, still fast asleep on the mattress in the corner snoring rather loudly, or still at work cleaning up vomit from the benches. The blonde's mind was firmly planted on the latter friend, whose employment was not clean business, and would often cause worry to cloud his mind as if the other wouldn't make it back home at all. Being a bartender between the hours of twilight and dawn was often called the work of devil in these parts, and what was harder still was the fact that the workplace was all the way across town. Even though he was sure no bodily harm would come to a six and something feet tall man dressed like a rancher in the early hours of the morning, Ralph couldn't help but be anxious anyway. In those times when his uneasiness got the best of him, he would often pick up his guitar and resurrect a country song or two from his glory days; the glory days which brought back the dorky grin of a shaggy straw blonde boy and the memories of a sunsets on a farm to the front of his mind. A twang of an incorrect note shook him from his mind's wanderings.

"What a good morning call, Ralphie." The redhead on the mattress mumbled into his flatly stuffed pillow. "A bad note, that's a first."

"You're a hoser, Ilan." Ralph shot back without so much as looking up from his guitar. Trained blue eyes played close attention to the D string and its odd vibration. The blonde stopped playing entirely, leaning against the metal frame that held together the glass window, leaning the guitar against the wall adjacent to him. He hadn't moved from the ledge since last night, seeing as it was Ilan's turn on the mattress for the day. Ralph was glad the angry faced redhead got the mattress, his snoring into the pillow really muffled out the usual loud rumble of other nights. The said redhead glanced at the door.

"Is Owen not back yet?" Ilan asked as he groggily got up from the bed, trudging heavily across the wooden floorboards whilst he straightened out his 'friendly' scripted sweatshirt. He sat on the kitchen counter, now almost opposite of Ralph although the blonde didn't look in his direction. The guitarist's silence meant a definite no, so Ralph shrugged and fixed himself a simple breakfast of a glass of water. Nothing like the old fashioned way to get you through the day, as he always said – or at least he said it to himself. He knew he was very lucky to even get the beverage everyday and without much charge.

At that moment, both of them were freeloading jobless men of whom the Fates smiled on when Owen spotted them being kicked out of a country club since Ilan started a fight with one of the regular patrons in drunken stupor. The Saskatchewanian was on the way back from a dawn shift at the Range's Home when he noticed the two beaten men, and recognized them from a distant memory in their past.

The three of them were from an orphanage run by a man named Rupert who was very kind to them and raised each orphan like they were his own children. Unfortunately, or fortunately for them, the man had no kids of his own and spent most of his life raising the children that were abandoned at his door. When he did die, the children had nowhere to go, and with the foster care system not in place in the outskirt districts, it left them fighting for their own survival. In the days at the orphanage, they were known as the Prairie brothers, the three each coming from the different prairie states of Canada, even though they weren't related at all. They were so close knit that they were inseparable from the hours of waking up to the hours of falling asleep. But the times change and with Rupert's passing so did the Prairie brothers' chapter come to a close, although not for very long.

Ilan was a freelancing poet in the earlier days of his youth, and Ralph was starting to become a popular indie musician from the lyrics of a country ballad he wrote about Alberta, his motherland, and her summer days. But when the guitarist's fame began to wane, he turned to the redhead for lyrical masterpieces, reconnecting themselves with each other through a payphone call. Even then with Ilan by his side, Ralph's music didn't have the same effect his homely ballad did, and he knew that it was because it didn't come from the heart. Misfortune graced their beings for a few weeks, although Ralph's last gig which was at the RED café and the shenanigans that ensued, led them to seeing Owen and thus the smile of the Fates.

The blonde was kind enough to take the other two into his apartment, no matter how trashy it was, and the Prairie brothers were reformed once more. The past few months had been a bit of a struggle, saving up the money to pay the rent, and with Ilan ill with some weird disease, it led to the doubling of Owen's shifts. The Albertan country boy was not happy about it even if he felt bad for the sickened Manitoban.

Spying the Saskatchewanian's straight blond locks from their third floor window, Ralph kept his blue eyes on Owen, tilting his head towards the foggy glass to see better. Ilan followed his line of vision.

Owen was talking to some redhead on the street whose face was obscured by some red cap. It appeared as though he could brave the cold in a short sleeved, light blue shirt and a vest but what puzzled the two prairie boys was the tartan fabric wrapped around the redhead's waist. The redhead in the room didn't notice Ralph silently slinking away to talk to Owen until he saw the blond on the street too, red kerchief pulled over his nose although it was loosely tied around his neck.

Ilan was quick to run downstairs and not miss a lick of the conversation, but he couldn't help but pause at the door and read the abundant white notices haphazardly pasted on it. He gulped, eyebrows furrowed as he pushed his earflap toque upwards so he could confirm his skim reading. This wasn't good at all. He quickened his pace to the conversing three. He was just about to mention the eviction notice when Owen gave him a weary smile and a nod, a sign that he knows.

It turns out that the man in the kilt, Joel who lived in the second apartment upstairs, told Owen and Ralph about the eviction letter, and was looking for any spare change to help his sick son and wife as well as the crazy doubled rent rate. He was gladly willing to pay them back as soon as the seven days were up, even going as so far to pay little installments every week. Ilan admired the dedication in his fellow redhead, although his face could not portray such admiration. He and Ralph turned to the Saskatchewanian.

Owen had to say no to the Joel. Though he would like to help the poor family man tremendously, he had his own friends to take care of as well as the rent. The blonde was already picking up double shifts so he could afford it, but being a bartender really doesn't help him in the least. Ilan felt a tinge of guilt for contributing to the loss of money, subconsciously wrapping his scarf around himself tighter, pulling his gloves on and his sleeves around his hands. If he hadn't gotten sick, if he actually got better, maybe then Owen didn't have to take double shifts. Ilan opted to try and say something. The Manitoban had been saving some money for a beer night for a month or two now, and even though it wasn't much, he'd still like to give it to Joel. After all, it would serve more to them than it would to him. Before the words could come out of his throat, there was a voice that graced their conversation. Ilan growled internally. Such dulcet tones could only belong to the pot loving, derby rolling, pompous tree hugging second floor apartment tenant from British Columbia.

The redhead, and the other three, turned their heads to the voice, and sure enough, a fun little smile graced their faces from the balcony of the fire escape.

* * *

**A/N: **The third chapter got out fast! I was writing it all last night since I couldn't sleep and then proof checked it this morning, so here it is now, the third installment with Alberta, Manitoba and Saskatchewan. Hopefully, I didn't get things too OOC, though I feel like Alberta might have been but maybe he's being melancholic? Hahah, I don't know what's going on anymore.

Next up, it's definitely a BC chapter with hints of MannyxBC and I hope you guys enjoy it the minute I post it up!

And poor Joel, I wish there was more I could do for him, but he'll have to suffer a bit more while I get through the next chapters. The Cities will hopefully make an appearance after Chapter Five, but I am not too sure about it. Also, the disclaimers have changed, although it's unnoticable since they're all the same throughout the chapters. Anyway, see you in the next segment!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	4. Second Floor RENT

**Chapter Four: Second Floor RENT**

Victoria was like a sleazy, off her rocker, prostitute angel in a blue miniskirt and a slack yellow camisole emblazoned with an image of legalizing weed, braving the winter with nothing else but a loose black jacket that hung around her shoulders. The light of the new day peeking through the curtains of dreary grey clouds reflected against her pale golden skin in such angles that any artist would be jealous of, but her smile would take the cake. Though it wasn't perfect or straight, or pearl white, her teeth still gleamed with mischief, framed by cupid bow lips painted a bright rose red. She was lax, though it wasn't quite understandable why. Her position on the balcony barrier, with her legs dangling off the edge of the bar as one hand grasped the underside of the set of stairs balanced her precociously between broken bones, death and being alive. She tapped lightly on the cigarette, the ash falling as soft as the snowflakes did, making dizzying patterns as they fell to the ground. Brown hair, neatly tied in a ponytail with her bangs falling on either side of her heart shaped face framed the portrait quite nicely, the crinkling of the corner of her eyes made for a beautiful detail to envy the art students of the district. The British Columbian winked down at the four men, exhaling a puff of smoke from her cigarette as she did so.

If you need money, I've got some to spare." She reiterated, feeling as if her statement earlier went in one ear and out of the other. When she was still greeted with silence, she huffed incredulously. "Don't just look at me like I've got two heads or something. I offered, now I need an answer."

None of them could speak, however, Joel more so, since he was already forever grateful for the stroke of luck that he had landed. He wasn't sure just how he was going to return the sum to her – he hadn't gotten that far in his plausible course of action, but the hopeful grin on his face just summed up the total weight lifted off his shoulders. Now, he and Marie didn't have to take so many shifts since rent was going to be paid, and the money from their regulars could at least fund a foundation of green towards helping her and their son to get better. Of course, the other redhead in the current group had to speak up and pop this happy bubble.

"I wouldn't take the money, Joel." He said as if it was some grave warning of a curse, spitting out each syllable like it was lead poisoning on his tongue. The British Columbian on the second floor balcony was more than offended, and more so offended with the next comment to slew out of the Manitoban's mouth. "That's dirty money, man; money from the stripper joint two blocks from here."

His yellow eyes pierced through her chocolate brown orbs, and his eyebrow was raised as if he was taunting her to return a cheeky comment. Truth was, though this is the first and longest they've ever held in conversation, they just knew from the get go that they wouldn't get along. Often times, the redhead would be unable to sleep because of the sounds coming from floor underneath him, and often times, the girl was paused in her activities because the neighbor upstairs wouldn't quit banging on the ceiling ruining many moments and job opportunities for her. Both glared with such intensity. Victoria gritted her teeth together.

_How could he._ She bitterly thought the words in her head, conveying them through their battle of eye contact. _How could someone like him judge her on the basis of the noises that he hears through the night? How could he judge someone based on their occupation like that? It was the oldest occupation in the book… _Her smile graced itself into a smirk as she thought of a witty comment between the lines of the Manitoban being so anally retentive that it's a sin for a cat like her who is totally unrelated in any way, shape or form (not that she'd want to be), to work wherever she pleases. It's not like the redhead controlled any aspect of her life, nor have they even formally met. So how could he, on the basis of her workplace and income, judge her entire person in such a bawdy way?

It's not like he knew of the many nights she woke up in a cold sweat trying to kick her drug addiction, or the nights where she deliberately leaves the apartment or returns with a stranger to forget about the family that she was forced to leave behind. It's not like he was haunted by the cries of an alcoholic's abused children who in a recent light was found torched and deceased in a trash dump without so much as an acknowledgement in the obituaries of even the shabbiest papers. They weren't his siblings that he ran away from; they weren't the siblings that he broke the pinky promise with. She was supposed to protect them, but instead was forced to run away to the other side of Snow City just so she could continue to fund their living costs. Of course, the Manitoban wouldn't have known any of that.

"I don't care!" Joel shouted up, snapping the two out of their competitive glare trance. She was the first to tear her gaze away from those beautiful piercing yellow eyes and look towards Joel, even though she knew that spelled defeat. The British Columbian didn't mind, there was always a next time to continue their interrupted fight. It was a small complex after all.

"I don't care where the money comes from." Joel confirmed, a smile graced on his freckled face. There were tears in his eyes, Victoria could see this even from her height on the second floor, and she was glad to know that the four thousand dollars that she had cast aside to get her siblings out of their misery was still going to put someone out of their misery. That amount of money would help a lot, even for her, but it wasn't like she was staying for very long anyway. At least, Victoria knew, if she couldn't help her immediate family, the least she could do was help the people in her complex – people you could almost consider family, especially for a man like Joel who waved to her every evening just as the brunette would dash out the door for her work at the Cat's MeWow. Victoria smiled.

"Great! I'll be down in a second." She told the four of them, disappearing back into her window to get the four thousand in a yellowing sealed envelope. She shoved on her grey boots and pushed her way out of the front door of her spacious apartment, down the stairs, out the door and finally on the street. She gave the envelope to the Nova Scotian with a big prideful smirk on her face to rival the Cheshire cat's mischievous one.

Joel could not stop thanking the British Columbian for the large cash sum donation and his blubbering about paying her back. In fact, she insisted that it was a donation, and didn't need paying back at all. This, in turn, was the end of Joel's poker face, as tears were physically streaming down his cheeks, although his head was ducked and blue eyes were obscured by his cap. Victoria felt a flutter in her ribcage for being able to help out someone that wasn't her, although a twinge of regret hit her when she knew it should've gone to the two brothers and three sisters that she left behind on a cold winter's day much like today. God, the irony played out too well for her. Still, she smiled brightly, pushing up the sleeves of her black jacket and folding her arms across her chest.

Ilan noticed that this haughty stance was directed at him, and he rolled his pretty yellow hues at the girl. Big whoop, so she gave the man her cash savings, doesn't mean she's anymore virtuous than she was five minutes ago. He huffed, and watched the other redhead disappear back into the complex with joy in his movement, his Prairie Brothers and the pot smoking sex addict, looking in the same direction. In his line of vision just slightly adjacent to the British Columbian, Ilan's keen eyes noticed the pin prick marks on her arms, as well as the veering red stripes that littered up and down her left wrist and forearm. He didn't know how to feel about it, he had no right to be angry at her for it, in all honesty.

Adjacent to the Manitoban, Ralph looked at Owen with a worried expression on his face. The Saskatchewanian mirrored this look, but tried to force a smile. He was sure that Ilan would be okay once he warmed up to Victoria. The two prairie boys looked at each other as if they predicted the very same ending spelling for the arguing duo. They hadn't opened their mouth for more than five minutes at each other and the connection was already there.

"You should push your sleeves down, no one wants to see those flabby arms, dude." The redhead scoffed. Victoria was more than beyond irritated. _Does everything that comes out of his mouth just ruin any forms of normal conversation?_ Apparently it did.

Yeah, Owen and Ralph smiled at each other. Something else has finally caught the Manitoban's interests, and maybe then he could finally find his writing muse.

* * *

**A/N:** Look at that. Another day, another chapter. I've actually gotten pretty good with the whole schedule thing, so have a bit of BCxManny hate love relationship while I try to think of a new chapter to write up for next. (Yeah the BCxManny is soooo nonexistent, can you tell?)

It _should _and _will_ have Nunny, NWT and Yukon in it, but I am still fretting over the situation.

I feel like this chapter is far too short, even though there are more than enough words in it (1,500 plus) and that this whole story is splitting in ways. I'm going to try and piece it back together anyway. But, yeah. I'll see you in the next chapter!

(P.S The next next chapter will have Toronto, Ottawa, Montreal and Quebec City talking to Quebec and Ontario. Just thought I'd say that because I'm cool. Haha.)

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	5. First Floor RENT

**Chapter Five: First Floor RENT**

Kate waved her goodbyes to the friend whom she considered a sister for a long time. Off to work the girl would tumble, wearing a thick powder blue fur coat over a black skirt, white blouse and black vest, which masked as today's occupational uniform. Brunette tresses, that are halfway to her waist, were tied back with little pearl blue hair ties, securing them from obscuring her face. She smiled a genuine smile, dark chocolate brown orbs twinkling in the daylight as she kissed her little sister's forehead goodbye and walked out of the complex to get to the Aurora Borealis – a small town café who serves amazing coffee for such low prices. How the building stays open, no one is sure, but Kate knows that it has a lot to do with the wages of the employees. They don't get paid even minimum, but in their district, any sort of money goes, and Kate would much rather that her friend worked at several different cafés than at a brothel.

She looked down at the little girl bundled in fur and yellow within her grasp and embrace, the sheer likeness of the café worker displayed in her looks. Sure, her chubby cheeks and twin braided pig tails may have said so otherwise, but she was still the spitting image of her older sister and Kate could understand why she would go through extreme lengths just to make sure the little girl was happy, even though it costs her triple shifts at multiple cafés and only one day off every two weeks. Kate wasn't sure how she and her friend were going to deal with the news of the doubled rent rate, but she knew it would make an impact on their home life – if you can call this tornado torn like room fit for one person a home. Kate just saw their upstairs neighbor Joel with tears down his face and an envelope in his hand, and the Yukoner knew that he was tremendously lucky, although also tremendously deserving. One could not help but feel a pang of jealousy, since they too have worked their asses off to get their dreams out of the apartment window, but of course they haven't flown yet, not with little Nanook sick with some weird disease that refuses to leave her.

As if on cue, Nanook coughed, her hands automatically flying to her face to cover her mouth. The young brunette started to cry, and Kate noticed the blood that covered her dirty blue gloves, even the blood stains behind the top layer. She exhaled a concern sigh.

"We'll wash them, okay, Nunny?" she said with a gentle tone in her voice, using the pet name that Benjamin uses and the name she adores so much. Even though she was three and a half, she had a better grasp at the situation than most girls her age and she just nodded and took off the gloves, wrapping her hands in her sleeves instead. Kate settled her down in her high chair by the oil drum that was used as a fireplace, hoping it would warm her up somewhat. She smiled her brightest for the little Nunavummiut, casting aside the gloves for washing later. Even then, she kept a box of tissues close by.

Nanook made a little noise when she noticed blood trickling down the bridge between her nose and her lips, and without her gloves to cover it, began to whine and tilt her head back. Kate was immediately at her side with the tissues, holding them firmly against her button nose. Nanook's brown eyes were wet with tears. The rivulets of rust colored blood kept flowing and eventually, the Yukoner was forced to use her hands. She sighed.

Though she was irritated somewhat by days like today where she had to look after Nanook and her medical condition, she found it hard to say no to the little Nunavummiut, her brown eyes reminding Kate of the child's older sister, whose same big doe brown orbs were just too hard to dismiss.

Emily was a dawn jewel in the twilight darkness that the three of them live in. Despite the situations that have been thrown in her face, the Northwest Territorian braved the cold conditions with warmth and happiness, from her gentle voice to her even gentler actions. With this being said, gentle actions were not below keeping a hunting rifle behind the door in case of any emergency. Living on the first floor of an apartment complex sometimes called for measures that would cover breaking and entering, abduction and burglary. It had already happened once to Emily's mother, she did not want it happening to her best friend or sister. Kate always insisted that she could take care of herself and Nanook without the use of weapons, but the girl would not be swayed. Even so, the rifle gave the Yukoner comfort that she would not admit it did, even if she feels Emily would give more comfort than any metal firearm arm would.

There was a quick rap on the door consisting of two beats, and Kate immediately knew that it was just Victoria, who sometimes came downstairs to help her look after Nanook while Emily was out. The brunette was quick to react with the given situation, stripping her shirt off to use her camisole as a substitute and take over Kate's position.

"How're ya, Nunny?" the British Columbian asked with a hint of a laugh. The little girl smiled and giggled replying with a stumbled 'fine'. Kate washed her hands in the bathroom. She washed the gloves while she was in there too and fervently hoped they wouldn't take too long to dry.

Victoria stopped and checked if the chocolate brunette's nose had stopped bleeding. Thankfully, before her shirt was soaked red through and through, it had. Nanook sniffled, and used her sleeve to wipe her nose, but the older brunette took her cherub hand away from her face, and used her camisole instead. Not that she minded in the least. Being stuck in her day dream, the Yukoner didn't realize that Victoria used her only shirt to stop the blood flow. A palm met her forehead and with a slightly irritated and teasing sigh, wrapped her brown goose down puffer vest around the shivering British Columbian.

"Aren't you cold?" Victoria asked with a mock gasp, although her cheeks were tainted pink and her body constantly shaking. With a free hand, she pulled the vest tighter around herself. She looked at the Yukoner, her light brown hair partially tied in a ponytail although her fringe fell in front of her face. She had on just her worn green 3/4th sleeved shirt and shorts that stopped above her knee, but she didn't quiver. She was used to the cold, unlike the British Columbian.

"Aren't you?" she shot back although her brown eyes conveyed an expression of concern. Victoria steadfastly shook her head, despite her body saying otherwise. She insisted that the dying fire beside her and Nanook would keep her warm but Kate knew better than that. They've known each other for a long time, much longer than Kate knew Emily.

They lived next door to each other in their childhood, the Sahneuti family being a humble family who knew the Cheungs very well. Both of their mothers worked at the same brothel to support their family, and their fathers were just nowhere to be seen almost all of the time. In fact, the Yukoner used to help Victoria babysit her younger siblings during those days, which is why she returns the favor by looking after Nanook. Both of them used to be characters who were larger than life, Kate especially, but since their mothers' passing, things have changed.

With no immediate family to take care of her, the Yukoner was sent to Rupert's Orphanage where she met Emily and newly welcomed Nanook, who was dumped at the doorstep by the same woman who dumped Emily there. They learnt the child was born in Nunavut, and carried the last name of her mother instead of her father – although Emily wagered her mother knew not who her little sister's father was anyway. Christened Nanook Puqiqnak, whilst Emily's was Nunatsiaq-Puqiqnak, immediate custody of the child was given to the Northwest Territorian born teenager, even though their mother was alive. But that was soon to change when Emily hears of a break in resulting in the death of her mother. She was now the only known family of the Nunavummiut baby, though at the time Emily had no idea how to take care of a plant, let alone a child. That's where Kate came in and helped. It hasn't changed since.

"All better?" The brunette asked Nanook, who nodded her droopy head and began to fall asleep in her high chair. Victoria cleaned her face with the patches that weren't stained in blood before Kate gently picked her up and place her in her cot. She could fondly remember the days when they used to look after Victor and Van like this back in the cozy apartment across the city.

"How're your siblings?" Kate asked.

"Dead." Victoria replied abruptly and Kate winced, internally kicking herself for asking such a question.

"Sorry." She mumbled. Victoria just gave her a smile, but the Yukoner can see right through this façade and she knew that the brunette blamed herself for the death of her brothers and sisters. She handed Kate an envelope. Kate's expression did not betray her bewilderment and when she asked what the envelope was and opened it, she almost dropped it into the fire. Victoria insisted that it was about time she paid Kate back for all the times that she had borrowed money to kick through her addiction, and with her free from the shackles of drug abuse, she could finally return the borrowed money without fear of needing it again to satisfy her nerves. Kate questioned her motives, it was evident in the brown orbs.

"I'm skipping town once the seven days are up." Victoria simply explained. "There's nothing more for me to do here."

* * *

**A/N: **I was told that somewhere people call NWT Emily, so that's her name. For me, personally, I dub her Emily Aurora Nunatsiaq - the Aurora comes from the Aurora Borealis aka the Northern Lights, and the Nunatsiaq is what it was called which means "Beautiful Land." I digress, since I did not do any justice whatsoever to the three Rupert girls. I love them to pieces I do, (NWT especially - badass motherfucker right there) but I just don't have their character to a T. And poor, sweet Nunny why did I even do that to her! I'm so cruel...

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it was quite a challenge to write actually, without being too overly cliche about anything. And also, have a little YukonxBC baby ship there. (I actually think these two would be an aggressive and fantastic ship if I didn't love BCxManny, but I do, and I adore that even more so). Next up we'll be back to talking to Oliver/Ontario who is with Quebec City and Montreal. I wonder what became of Jean. And I also wonder what personalities QCC and Montreal are going to have. I also wonder when the fuck Franco and Anglo will show up (because they are adorable, and they WILL show up). Buuuut these will have to be for later chapters.

And to answer a question from the last chapter's review by Ottawa:  
I will let you in on a fantastic little secret. There are three parts to "La Vie Boheme!" This one is obviously with the Provinces and Territories, another one "La Vie Boheme Side B" is from the perspective of the Cities but the bigger picture, "R.E.N.T" is with the nations, although mostly the FACE family (+some). There will be cameos of characters throughout all the stories, although generally they can run without them. Hope this answers your question, and didn't spoil too much!

**This chapter is dedicated to:  
**ffn: Ottawa  
Tumblr: snowflakesaredangerous  
Wattpad: TheAbsenceofNothing

Thank you all so much for paying even the tiniest attention to this story, it means a lot to me and helps me keep motivated for writing! (Also if any of you are the same person, well kudos, you get a double dedication, ain't that exciting?)

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	6. Can't Live With Him

**Chapter Six: Can't Live With Him**

The brunette yawned and gave herself a morning cup o' Joe before she was bombarded with another shift of _'good morning sir/ma'am, what would you like to order?'_ and false smiles all around. Though it pains her to work at the Aurora Borealis eight hours a day, three days a week, the one thing that kept her going was the sound of her little sister's laughter and the thought of her rid of whatever disease plagued her. Emily took a deep breath, put on her white apron and entered the café through the back and smiled as politely as she could.

"Table three, m'cherie." The blonde Parisian barista smiled, gesturing towards the trio sitting down by the window booth. She flashed him a thankful beam and was off with her notepad and platter before he can return the notion. But he grinned anyway, shaking his head as he returned to grinding another portafilter's worth of coffee beans. That girl was going to go far, he knew, but she isn't going to go anywhere working in a two faced café like this.

Three blondes sat down at table three, one opposite of two. The one sitting by himself in what appears to be an incomplete business apparel consisting of a red tie, standard white button up and black slacks, looked nervous and concerned, in contrast to the other two – one with sunglasses, a white button up and black blazer with a long winding blue scarf around his neck, the other with a turquoise hoodie and brown fur trim vest, both of which Emily found strange for this part of town – both of whom graced with expressions that were very hard to read. Emily hated this part of the job, even though it was statutory for all waiters and waitresses. She walked up to table three.

"Hi, Em." One of the blondes greeted, and upon hearing his voice, the Northwest Territorian recognized him as the Ontarian who lived on the fourth floor of her complex. Her smiled turned genuine.

"Oh, Oliver! I almost didn't recognize you without the Toronto Maple Leaf logo across your chest."

The blue eyed bit his lip, as if he had something to hide concerning that jersey. Mister turquoise hoodie narrowed his eyes at him. The atmosphere was beginning to tense, even as Oliver introduced Emily to the boys accompanying him to the Aurora Borealis. On the right was the strawberry blonde, sunglasses wearing Québécois named Samuel Desrosiers, whilst beside him was the straw yellow blonde, violet eyed Montréalais whose given name is Maurice LaFleur – he was the one giving the evil eyes to Oliver. However, the Ontarian ignored this expression and continued on.

"I thought you worked at The Yellow Knife?"

Immediately Emily denied the information, knowing her boss would kick her out if he found out she was working at another café. She thought she was safe, but apparently this was a false assumption.

"I've never worked there. Maybe it was someone who looked like me." She lied smoothly, watching her boss shift his gaze to another waitress. Internally, she sighed, but her body was kept tense. The brunette held up her notepad, and asked for their order with the usual chirpy voice and smile.

"We'll 'ave one chai tea latte for myself, a…" The Québécoise lowered his sunglasses to reveal a set of deep ocean blue orbs, gaze casual though intense on Oliver. The reply motioned for an espresso; _'just an espresso'. _"…an espresso for the ass 'ole over 'ere, and a 'ot chocolate, and strawberry slice for the cutie sitting next to me, merci, chérie."

Oliver deadpanned inside and wished desperately that the Northwest Territorian waitress didn't have to fill in the order but stay and chat instead. Of course, this wasn't to happen, because as soon as she put down the pen, asked if that would be all and got 'nothing else' as an answer, she was already off to fulfill the order, talking to the barista behind the counter whose hair was tied back in a ponytail. It didn't take very long for her to come back and then leave to receive another order. At the point, the Ontarian gulped.

"So…" the Montréalais began, delicately slicing the strawberry piece with a stainless steel fork. He pierced it just as gracefully and pointed the little pink triangle at Oliver, lazily resting his head on his wrist. His violet gaze signaled mischief and glee, a combination of expressions the Ontarian didn't want to see on anyone's face, especially this blonde. All he could do was smile nervously and wait for the rest of the sentence that he dreaded would come. "What did you want us 'ere for, and why does Tremblay 'ave your sweater?"

He knew it. But of course, he explained. He could do nothing but explain.

When he first found Jean that morning, his heart almost stopped beating, seeing the man so lifeless on the floor. At first, Oliver thought the Québécois was dead, but noticed the slight movement of his chest indicating shallow breathing. But still, that one instantaneous moment of Jean dead – even if it was just appearing so – scared the ever living hell out of Oliver, and that thought alone plagued him. Even after Joel came and left, even after the man roused from his bout of unconsciousness, the thought of his ash brunette roommate kicking the bucket in the most unceremonious way possible lingered in his mind.

Jean had complained about a headache. Oliver knew it was the concussion causing collision when the Québécois' head collided with the kitchen floor. He told Jean to hush, wetting the flannelette again and placing it on the other's forehead. Of course the recipient of the odd treatment was confused. One minute, he mentioned, he was...having a smoke – Oliver knew it was more than a cigarette, there were no lit ones when he came in – the next minute he was on the couch with such a splitting headache. What was more bizarre to him was that Oliver was acting weird, fretting over him like a mother hen. The Ontarian had never done that in the span of time they knew each other. He also noticed the Maple Leaf jersey, which Oliver was _never _without, on his body, but he didn't say anything about it. Truth be told, it was warm, and smelled like the Ontarian, which Jean didn't mind at all.

"Are you okay?" The blonde asked, dabbing the cloth around the Québécois' face. Jean nodded, unable to speak from the weirdness of it all. But the Ontarian got irritated by the lack of a voiced answer, complaining of the fact that Jean was acting strange, and they fought like they normally did once more, slewing insults at each other and pointing out each other's flaws, like they did every other night.

Oliver left the apartment after the fight but couldn't shake the marks he saw when the ash brunette rolled up his sleeves to throw a punch in the Ontarian's face. He missed by an inch or two, hitting the wall beside Oliver and pinning the blonde to said partition. At that proximity, he definitely noticed needle pricks in Jean's forearm. Still he didn't say anything until he was out of the apartment, out of the complex and already walking down the street. He called Samuel and Maurice not too long after that, not knowing that the Québécois was watching from their fourth floor window, regretting what he had said and done.

The Montréalais hummed thoughtfully, savoring the taste of the second to last piece of his strawberry slice in his mouth. His companion sipped his latte in thoughtful silence also, sunglasses propped onto the top of his head, pushing his hair back. This only made his gaze even more intense. If there was a reason that he was wearing sunglasses in the first place, Oliver concluded that it would have to be because he was a French-Canadian Medusa. Still, the story sunk on them heavily, but Oliver patiently waited for their reply and possibly advice. The only reason why he called Jean's friends was because they understood the guy better than he ever will. His train of thought crashed when Maurice laughed.

"Ah, the answer? So simple, oui, Samuel?" he grinned, while the Québécois beside him nestled his tea cup back onto its saucer and nodded. Cue in another laugh. For reasons beyond him, Oliver was somewhat scared of the blonde's chortles, even more so his giggles. Seeing a grown man like Maurice giggle was something that terrified Oliver more than anything, and he's seen plenty of anything because Jean is his roommate. He was starting to make those crazy friendship connections, but for the life of him could not understand what Maurice was saying.

"'e likes you, a lot." Samuel replied to the Ontarian's confused expression. That man's words were so blunt, one could light them up, smoke them and trip for an hour. Oliver just blinked, disbelief in his body language. _Jean? Liking him? They argue almost every single day, never get along and avoid each other for hours, how does that equate to liking him?_ The Ontarian voiced his opinion.

Maurice's hand met his face and he groaned. _What is there not to get about this situation? Is the Anglo-Canadian really that dense that he couldn't see what was unfolding in front of him?_

"I'd go as far as to say, 'e _loves_ you, Oliver." The violet eyed stated, emphasizing on the word love. The Ontarian could feel the blood rush to his cheeks. _In what universe would Jean _ever_ love him? _He was silent for the longest of times, his espresso still untouched and it remained untouched as he got up to leave.

"Where are you going?" Maurice asked, looking up at the red faced blonde.

"If you're going 'ome, talk to Jean. That's the important part." Samuel told him, but the Ontarian was not going home nor was he going to talk to his roommate. He thinks they've done enough talking for the day. He was going to think. He was going to go to his favorite spot –which he wouldn't disclose – and think of the events that just unfolded. There was definitely enough stress to go around for Oliver, considering Joel's family, the Prairie Brothers, Victoria, Kate and the Puqiqnak sisters, not to mention the crazy rent rate, his occupational morality clash, Jean's addiction and now second hand confession? No, this was too much. He couldn't handle anymore without exploding at someone or something, and he'd rather much implode than explode. He explained himself to the two blondes, and then excused himself from the meal, angrily stomping off down the street.

Samuel mentioned that he left his espresso untouched. Maurice was too busy drinking his hot chocolate to pay too much attention. But they both knew that those two had a '_can't live with him, can't live without him'_ apartment situation. They could simply tell from the way the Ontarian told the story of when he found Jean. The moment Oliver mentioned that he thought Jean dead, and how his heart stopped, it was clear to the pair of them. Violet orbs met glinting blue ones, an idea fresh in both of their minds. The Québécois slid his glasses down to obscure his eyes as he pulled out his cell phone. Maurice pulled out his wallet and paid.

"Bonjour, Nicholas, guess who." Samuel began to speak on the phone. Maurice giggled. Aside from the fact that the Ottawan on the receiver currently abhorred them, he would probably be less delighted in the idea they had in mind. Samuel couldn't help but smirk. The Ontarian needed alone time? Oh, they were going to give him some alone time.

* * *

**A/N: **Aaaaand, we have the presence of Quebec City AND Montreal in one chapter! (Bonus cameo mention for Ottawa, yes / Also, France cameo, double yes!) I absolutely adore these two, actually. They are absolutely adorable and I just love their coupling.

Please, please, please excuse me if I am not too accurate with Quebec City and Montreal, as their personalities are currently open to interpretation. I studied the roleplay blogs and the wikipedia page as much as I could and the above is what I came up with. For me, Montreal is like this flamboyant cake loving, open to everything romancer who talks a lot and believes in true love, whilst Quebec City is more silent but very blunt and straight to the point, although he's a big smooth talker and always has Montreal's back. And he wears sunglasses because he's so cool. Yeah. I still love them both, however.

Have a lovey dovey kind of chapter. There is a part two to this but people are going to have to wait with this cliffhanger!

The names come from some tumblr roleplay blogs:  
**Montreal** - Maurice "Momo" LaFleur [villedemomo]  
**Quebec City **- Samuel Desrosiers [vieillecapitale]  
**Ottawa** - Nicholas Bellarose [ottawhatareyoudoing]

See you in the next chapter!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	7. Can't Live Without Him

**Chapter Seven: Can't Live Without Him**

He had been on the roof of the building where the Aurora Borealis was located the entire time. A tall ten storey complex with the first floor hollowed out as a café, the rest were galleries or mini museums set up to attract customers. It was a win-win position for those who situated their investments at the popular coffee shop. However, Oliver only came up here on a whim, making up his 'favorite spot' at the moment he said so. The blonde climbed up the fire escape in the alley next to the shop, and never came back down. He was happy to think he wouldn't come down, even when he looked up at the sky to try and stop the tears from flowing – not that a grown man, like himself, would cry at all, no.

The sun was beginning to lower itself against the horizon, casting its glows of red and orange as the signal of another day's end. The cold had gotten colder, but no snow would fall. The sky was clear with a blanket of blue and the freckles of stars glistened in their place of glory. For anyone in the deftly placed silence, it would be a moment of peace, but not for Oliver whose turmoil in his head was only amplified even more by the lack of noise. It was hard to even begin to express his dilemma in words and for the hours that he spent there by himself, he hadn't made a noise.

In the cluttered space of the building's rooftop, the darkness splayed silhouettes of barely any comprehension, the Ontarian's shadow amongst them. Nestled between some sort of crate and an antenna, he looked out at the Snow City skyline with his knees tucked in to his chest, his chin resting on his arms which were wrapped tightly around his legs. Not only was this comfortable, it also kept him warm, seeing as his jersey was still back at the apartment, and he was not risking seeing Jean for the article of clothing.

Oh, _Jean_. Funny how the Québécois hadn't left his mind since Maurice mentioned the L word. And he wasn't talking about lesbian or lesbians, as much as Oliver wanted to hear those words, even if it didn't make sense. In fact, he would much rather that Jean was some sort of cross dressing lesbian than to have been told that he was in love with Oliver. He shuddered. Whether he was shuddering from the cold or the thought, he wasn't sure. Then again, he didn't want to know.

_How on earth could Jean be in love with him? And how the _hell _did Maurice and Samuel know?_ Thoughts like this plagued the Ontarian as he searched for his own answers in his memories. But the more he thought, the less he knew and the more he doubted himself. _Did he have feelings for Jean too?_

That was a question he didn't want to answer.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steer his mind off of the ash brunette but before his thoughts could really settle on something that wasn't remotely French-Canadian, he heard the groan of metal signaling the arrival of someone else.

And lo behold, just when he didn't want to think of the Québécois, here he arrives. The blonde presses himself into the crate and begs the glowing orbs in the sky not to let him be seen. He could hear his name being called out repeatedly, see his jersey loosely draped over Jean's arm, neatly folded and clean. How did Jean find him, Oliver wasn't sure but he definitely didn't want to see him, especially at this hour, especially after what he had heard. He kept his eyes shut and begged to be invisible. Silence greeted him after a while, notable footsteps gone. Blue eyes decided to peek if it was safe. His vision was graced with hazel and he knew he was in trouble.

"Thought you could hide away from me, eh? Don't run away like that ever again." Jean scolded him, whacking Oliver on the back of his head. Oliver was stunned into silence, rubbing his newly acquired injury. Watery blue eyes looked up at Jean, and the other man's shoulders dropped.

"I-I didn't make you cry, did I?" the ash brunette whispered, stumbling for words. Oliver blinked away the tears and growled.

"Course not! I have more on my mind than your ugly mug, you know!" he snapped and Jean was taken aback a little at the aggressive comment. Not that it was beyond anything they'd say usually, but today was different, not after what he heard from two lovely and over protective French-Canadians aside from himself. He tried to explain himself to Oliver, starting from the very beginning – a phone call.

"Je t'adore, Tremblay, je t'adore." The ash brunette had just sighed at the greeting, knowing it was just the smart mouth fellow Québécois he considered his friend. He greeted his bonjour back in an irritated tone, but both of them knew there was affection behind the notion. Rolling up his left sleeve, he tucked his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder, patiently waiting for the rest of what the other man had to say. The blonde had caught him at the wrong time, he knew, as he tapped twice on the syringe to keep the liquid flowing, holding it between his fingers. His position on the ledge made for a melancholic appearance, sitting on the outcrop and leaning back on the side panels, watching the world pass by beside him. He had his arm out, ready, but he waited for the end of the phone call before anything. Maybe Samuel had something important to say, he didn't know, but he needed to find out. Maybe it was something about Oliver, not that he wanted to hear anything about that blonde anyway – in fact, he was partially the reason why he was doing _this_ routine again. But no one needed to know that the same way no one needed to know what he was about to do.

"Is Oliver 'ome?" Samuel inquired ever so nonchalantly. Though he didn't want to hear those three syllables that made up the Ontarian, he stopped twisting the needle between his fingertips to pause and answer a no. The Québécois on the phone hummed in thoughtful response, and the hazel eyed found this very peculiar indeed.

"I 'aven't seen 'im, since 'e left the apartment this morning." He continued, flashes of the bitter incident in his head, the image of Oliver on the street looking at his cell phone with a sigh lingering the longest in his thoughts. That was the last he saw of the Ontarian for the entire day, and it was the honest truth. He hadn't even left for work, or call in sick. For all his boss knows, he could be dead on the kitchen floor, which he almost was if it wasn't for Oliver. His hazel eyes flickered towards the skyline, the sky was just beginning to tinge red.

"That's funny…" said Samuel, trailing off of his sentence. Jean could almost hear the frown in the blonde's voice. With that in mind, concern was beginning to pool in his gut and he urged the blue eyed to finish the rest of his sentence.

"Momo- Maurice and I... we 'aven't seen 'im since 'e asked us to meet 'im at the Aurora Borealis this morning." he said with a sigh, using LaFleur's given name instead of the pet name that he would never let the straw blonde live down. Jean knew it was bad, he could feel it coming all along. He didn't know what else to do but intensely listen to the strawberry blonde's explanation, drinking in every detail with caution, like fine wine. It got up to the point where the Québécois drifted into French, a panic in his voice. At that point, Jean knew it wasn't just bad, it was worse.

"Desrosiers! Calm down, crisse!" Jean swore, another slew of curses following after it. The needle lay forgotten on the windowsill as they argued in bitter Québécoise, slewing insult after curse after threat as he grabbed Oliver's prized shirt, and flew out the door in a hurry. He had no time to put on a jacket, even as the cold settled around him, the Ontarian the only solid thing on his mind. God knows what could've happened to Oliver, and even though they don't get along, the thought of the Ontarian dead in ditch somewhere scared the _marde_ out of Jean. He searched the district, from street to street, from alleyway to alleyway. The sun was starting to dip below the skyline before he heard good news.

_Give me the phone, Sammy! I know where 'e is!_

The sound of Maurice's voice and the sentence that was just said could not have been more of a comfort to the Québécois right then. Samuel was quick to hand his cell phone over to the Montréalais who cradled it with his left hand as his other hand was occupied by his own cell phone of which he was texting a thank you note to a very pissed off Torontonian starving author.

"'e's still at the Aurora Borealis, Tremblay. Try the rooftop." The blonde stated before Jean could even begin to ask. The hazel eyed nodded, even though the recipient of the phone could not see this physical action. He began to make his way towards the café when Maurice issued him a warning. He told the Québécois to be careful, and insisted that he shouldn't play with the Ontarian's feelings just because he did not know where he stood in their relationship.

_Relationship? _Jean questioned silently to himself. _What relationship is that teton talking about?_ His pace quickened from a walk to a jog as Maurice explained.

"Oliver is 'ead over 'eels in love with _you_, chérie!" he whispered with a hint of glee in his voice. Despite the complete off chances of that ever happening, Jean knew the Montréalais wasn't capable of lying smoothly, unlike his Québec City born companion who was an expert, so when he said those words, he trusted them and sped up his pace even more. "Don't break his 'eart, silver tongue. We know what you are like."

Jean rolled his eyes but did not say anything until he arrived at the Aurora Borealis alleyway. He said his thank you and goodbyes to the pair, beginning to ascend the fire escape. On the rooftop of the nine storey building across the Aurora Borealis, a strawberry blonde handed the binoculars to his cake snacking companion who just ended a call with a Québécois. They swapped objects, and the shorter of the two, the one on the phone previously, just giggled. The other smiled and helped himself to a slice of strawberry cake. From his binoculars, he could see the curly haired blonde was in a state of shock and anger, probably dwelling on the little slip up confession. He was right.

"I-I…T-They…They made that up! I am _not_ head over heels in love with _you_!" Oliver stammered, tripping over his words as the heat rushed to his face. He ducked his head, trying to avoid Jean's hazel gaze but the man just tilted his chin up with a caressing touch. Jean tilted his head to the side.

"Not even a little bit?" he asked and the Ontarian found it hard to deny the truth, but he persevered with his lie and squeaked out a no. The Québécois dropped his hand to his side. Oliver immediately missed the fleeting touch and regretted his answer. Jean sat next to the Ontarian, lighting up a cigarette with one hand, the other still held Oliver's beloved shirt, and he hasn't let go of it yet.

"Why were you up here for more than six hours then?" he asked, blowing out a puff of smoke. Oliver watched it dance in the air, unconsciously leaning his head on Jean's shoulder. When the cold started to nip at his skin, the ash brunette draped the jersey over him.

"I was just thinking about the job offer at Star News." he answered. Jean looked at him strangely, eyebrow arched, cigarette between his lips. He connected the dots rather easily. It was the interview he had returned from earlier that day, although the scheduled meeting was hours before dawn and so the Ontarian probably spent some time dwelling on it already. He knew that it was against his morals to sell himself so short of his dreams. Jean told him not to take it. But Oliver said he was going to, resulting in a bitter spat between the two of them.

"I'm going to take it because I want to use the money to help you in rehab." The blonde confessed. Jean was not one to blush so easily, but he could feel the tinge of pink on his cheeks, and he was thankful for the darkness that already sheltered them. The fact that Oliver considered his wellbeing meant a lot the Québécois.

"I don't need rehab." the ash brunette insisted, but when the Ontarian looked at him with such dismay, he amended his statement with his eyes averted. "I…I-I've got you."

Jean felt warmth on his lips, and his blush increase further but he did not object, in fact going so far as to kiss back. It was chaste, and soft, the feeling lingering on both their lips.

"Your friends said you were in love with me." Oliver admitted, nestling himself against Jean's neck. The Québécois rested his head on the Ontarian's.

"They may have been right." He chuckled, twirling Oliver's hair between his fingers. They looked comfortable, both with grateful smiles on their faces and their fingers intertwined. The violet eyed on the opposite building put down the binoculars. He and the blue eyed with the sunglasses began their descent before they were caught by the security guard. He also finally clicked 'send' on that thank you text.

* * *

**A/N:** Awwww. _Awwwww. __**Awwwwwwwww!**_Yes, no, I'm sorry. I couldn't _not _have them get together early in the story. I was planning they have a bitter spat, hook up and get seen and then blatantly deny each other for a looong time, but I figured they've done that in the past.

Do you feel a secret chapter!? I feel a secret chapter. I feel a chapter where I get to write about certain Cities and their ability to make relationship happens. with other Cities joining in for the hell of it.

But no. No, sorry to let you down, cheries, that is not part of this story. Like I said before, Side B, RENT and this are all part of the same universe, and intertwine quite intricately. But I will say that "La Vie Boheme Side B" is in writing! (As soon as I get the names of some cities or justify their names in my head, it will be posted very soon!)

But I digress, have a little fluff chapter before we hit the storm, honeys!  
The two part chapter is complete. I throw some QCxON in your direction.  
(Also note how Jean didn't get to take his narcotics...hm...)

To Ottawa:  
You are very welcome for answering your question, and thank you for such a compliment! Ottawa will be showing up at one stage to talk to Oliver - about what, I'll leave you wondering! I hope I don't disappoint! But thank you, again~

**This chapter is dedicated to:**  
ffn: Ottawa

Seriously, your reviews brighten up my day!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	8. Dyin' Inside

**Chapter Eight: Dyin' Inside**

She began to hum and rehearse simultaneously, fixing the ribbons in hair with the aid of the chipped bathroom mirror in her cramped apartment. Soft fingers gently combed knotted locks, smoothing out the tangles and letting it fall just above her collar. Automated fingers swiftly applied light make up, powdering over imperfections, and reddening slightly cracked lips. She smoothed out her wrinkled dress while she was at it. Blue eyes flickered up to the mirror, scrutinizing her appearance. It would have to do, she guessed.

"Y'look beautiful." A redhead commented from the bathroom door. Her glance flickered to his, and she smiled true. Many years they've lived together although not very long in the shabby one room apartment they resided in now. In those years she never lost the sensation of feeling giddy around the kilt-wearing redhead, nor could she hold any control over herself when he smiled his lopsided grin.

"You look 'andsome as always, cher." She said so softly that only the Nova Scotian could hear her. He laughed heartily and moved in to give her a hug, wrapping strong arms around the fragile girl but held her soft in their embrace. He gave her a quick peck on her forehead, burying his face in her hair and holding her close. Every day was a battle for the two of them, more so the New Brunswicker who fought illness every day. But the redhead knew, no matter how weak she seemed, she would forge on with life every day and he admired her greatly for that.

"You dun have t'work t'night, Bonnie, y'know that, right?" he asked in a low voice. She could tell from the way he whispered it, to the pleading look in his eyes that he didn't want her to go. He wanted her to focus on getting better, even if this disease was incurable. He refused to believe it was incurable but Marie knew better than that. She smiled sadly, knowing the truth about being as sick as she was. She knew there was no day like today, and she was going to live for her son who needed more medical help than her. At the very least, if she could contribute something to aid her son's welfare, then she could die happy even if losing everyone around her was going to be difficult.

"Don't be silly, Joel. A duet is not performed by one person." She replied. What she said, they both knew was right. The Maritimers was a place well known to common folk for their ambience, which was notably Joel and Marie's duo act playing all night. It paid sustainable money, even if one counts the deduction for the midnight meal, working well for the couple who loved music as much as family. Though getting their dreams of being a singer songwriter duo out of that pub was hard, it made them happy to do what they loved. Blue eyes glanced up at green orbs as Marie placed her hand against his cheek. He held it there, wanting the touch to stay, no matter how fleeting it always was. That's because he knew; he knew they didn't have much time. Her decision was firm, and with that in mind, Joel took her hand and began to walk themselves out of the door.

Anne was standing there with both of their coats in her arms, trying her best to put on an enthusiastic smile, but her green eyes betrayed her. Joel chose not to wear his coat for the evening, instead wrapping it over Marie who gave him an exhausted look. Although being treated like breakable glass tremendously eased her life, it also annoyed her because her independence was always being undermined. She entertained the thought for Joel's sanity since she knew how much her safety meant to him. It was just one of the little things that they compromised over the years. She thanked him with a smile, taking Benjamin's hand as they did their nightly routine.

The couple took no chances with the safety of those under their custody, knowing full well they would not forgive themselves if anything happened to the young ones. As soon as they opened the door, Oliver and Jean were animatedly talking as they walked up the stairs. If they were fighting or conversing, none of the four from the second apartment of the fourth floor could actually discern.

"Ye two look very happy?" The Nova Scotian stated, unintentionally framing it into a question. He raised a red eyebrow as the Ontarian ducked his head to hide his sheepish grin.

"Are you kidding?" Jean scoffed. "It's the worst day of my life. I'm stuck with this Anglophone."

Of course his smile said otherwise, a teasing smirk plastered on his face even when Oliver glared at him through his lenses and rolled his pretty blues, pressing his lips into a thin line. He stood offside from the Québécois, and asked Joel in a mock whisper of, _how do you think I feel, _a teasing retaliation. The ash brunette just laughed and pulled the Ontarian closer. The only thing Joel could think of was _finally –_ the two of them had gotten together at last.

"Come, Anne, we'll have sandwiches for dinner, oui?" the Québécois declared jubilantly, taking the little red head's hand and leading her into their apartment. Their happiness was infectious, pretty soon the six of them were smiling and laughing, even little Benjamin. But this laughter was short lived as they waved goodbye to Anne, and began their descent down the complex.

Marie squeaked as she sneezed, her hand automatically on her face to cover her mouth. She froze.

Joel realized there was blood on her hand and they stopped moving altogether. Benjamin looked up at his mother with concern on his face, even if he wasn't quite sure why. Marie assured her two boys that she was fine, even as blood began to drip down her chin. She kept her hand on her face to try and halt the flow. It wasn't long before she began to cough and feel light headed, settling down on the stairs. The coughs wouldn't stop.

Fortunately for them, the Albertan on the floor was going outside for a quick errand. He saw the scene before him, the New Brunswicker shaking, coughing, spluttering at the same time, her pale skin paling even more – if it was possible. Her husband was holding her close in his lap, their son beside him, tears streaming down his face. The Manitoban Ralph shared the apartment with complained about the open door and was about to confront him about it when he saw the scene in front of him too.

"Give me your toque, Ilan." The blonde suddenly demanded but the other didn't even ask questions. They both knew what to do. Not that this occurrence was frequent, but it had happened twice before today, when the nights were just as cold. That was when Marie was at her most vulnerable. Everybody in the complex knew that.

Ilan was quick to nestle Benjamin in his arms, even if he was a tad awkward about it. Never mind that, he saw the Albertan put his bonnet on the New Brunswicker, tying his own kerchief over her mouth and neck. The best possible way to aid her was to keep her as warm as possible, stop the fever and the sweating, and keep her in a controlled environment. With this in mind, Ilan made his journey downstairs to the first floor.

"She's gone into a state of shock." The red head confirmed to the sisters and Kate – the brunette taking the teary eyed blonde with a gentle embrace, soothing him and whispering comforting words about how his mother will be fine and how she would fare well. Deep inside, however, they didn't know just how well she would fare this attack. He left Benjamin to them, closing the door behind him as he went back up. The Albertan was just taking her into their apartment to lay her on the one mattress they had. Owen was already ripping into the cabinet looking for decent layers to serve as blankets. The Nova Scotian stood at the door wringing his hands and trying to control his breathing. Green eyes were cast down to the floor, and he hated it – he hated this. Most of all, he hated himself for not being able to help his wife despite his best efforts. Once Owen had got a handle on the situation, Ralph and Ilan pulled the Nova Scotian by an arm each and dragged him down the stairs.

"We're going to forget this. You need a break. Marie needs a break. Your son needs a break. Anne needs a break." Ilan replied as soon as Joel asked where they were taking him. In short, they were going for a drink or two, just to calm frazzled nerves, even if Joel didn't want to.

"Y'all are going to pull through, just hang tight." Ralph assured the redhead, even though he wasn't sure of his own words. None of them were sure, really.

At the top of the stairs, a younger red head used her dirt green pinafore to wipe away her tears. That was it. That was the last straw. She could not take watching her brother spiral into…whatever he was spiraling into, and watching the sickness destroy the woman who she had started to think of as the sister she never had. In their district, every little bit of money counts. Even if they claim she did not take up much space, she knew that if she left, whatever amount she's worth can be put to good use.

"Anne, _est ce que vous allez bien_, are you alright?" Jean asked from the kitchen, slicing canned meat with well trained fingers gripping the knife.

"I'm fine. I'm just going out for fresh air. I'll be back." He heard from outside the door. He doubted the words severely, frowning at the thought. But he bit back his tongue, and exhaled the smoke from the cigarette between his lips, eyes weary on the door. He prayed that the girl would stay true to her word.

* * *

**A/N: **I said it was the calm before the storm, didn't I? So here we go an awfully distracted looking chapter. (Don't worry, the next one is _way_ worse ! ) Poor NB, this isn't boding very well for them is it? And on top of that, Anne running away and Benjamin's probably scared shitless. At the very least, they have enough money to pay the rent right?

Right...

Anyway, that's all I've really got to say,

And Ottawa darling!  
I am apologizing greatly that Ottawa isn't showing up for a while. He (and Toronto) play as big as a part as Quebec city and Montreal does, but he (/they) won't make an appearance until very much later. But regardless! Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, they make me smile. _She says as she flashes a cheesy grin and proceed to run, run away._

I know it's insanely messy, I've been so distracted trying to write it straight. I tried amending it as best as I could.

The Chapter Title is was inspired from the song Dyin' Inside by Elenowen

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	9. Bittersweet

**Chapter Nine: Bittersweet**

At first, he hesitated.

But after three mugs of Keith's, two glasses of bourbon, and a whiskey shot competition against the Albertan prairie boy of which he won, Joel Alexander Mackenzie was back to normal – no, not drunk, normal, the normal before the days became short and his wife's illness wore him through. They used to go out like this in the year previous, declaring it the establishment of tenant friendships, just in case something happened to them. After all, they held the same ideals in that respect – who else can you trust but the people who are close to you? If they had someone else's back, might as well have each others'. That's how they found themselves hitting the pubs during opening hours; today's being Joel's favorite – The Scotian Shelf.

The redhead hadn't been in the pub he adored for months, or if he has, had not touched the liquor because he was performing with his fiddle, his wavering source of income. Some days it was good, some days it was bad, but today he didn't have to deal with any of that as he was being ordered to get completely smashed.

From his barstool in the far corner of the bench, Ilan watched on, amused at the sight before him. Scot or not, Joel loved a good jig, and with the music playing to his liking, he and other patrons of the bar were enjoying the fine melody that played throughout the pub, moving rhythmically in the art of the dance, shouting cheers with such enthusiasm. The musician on the protruding ledge that served as a stage, a redhead who was also from Nova Scotia, smiled wide as he continued playing, glad that people were enjoying the composition as much as he did. With that he played on.

Ralph placed his hand on the counter with a thud, shaking the Manitoban from his thoughts. He glared at the blonde who only grinned back, and Ilan knew that he was just beyond tipsy from the tinge of pink on his cheeks.

"Isn't it great?" Ralph said, sliding into the empty seat next to Ilan. He had that seat before anyhow, no one took it. "We've got the ol' Joel back."

Both of their eyes were trailed on the Nova Scotian dancing to the claps and beats of other patrons. They could see why this was Joel's favorite pub. Shades of yellow, orange and red were what greeted their vision, a vibe of happiness and security, hints of blues and greens where they needed to appear. The atmosphere was very lively, and the people here even more so. When they had arrived, the frequenters of the little tavern greeted him with such merriment and optimism, cheering up the redhead rather quickly. Alcohol helped him along even more, and as the night wore on, so did Joel's happiness increase.

"Another round o' Keith's on the house, lad!" the bartender boomed with such jolly tones. Joel took the mug, toasting the glass with his neighbor's before drinking it in practically three gulps. The man sure did love his Keith's. And he could sure hold his liquor too.

"Play us a fun one, Georgie!" he requested from the musician, only just beginning to slur his words despite the amount of drinks he's had.

"Only for ye, eh, Joel!" George shouted back, and with that they were off into another song.

Joel moved his way from the crowd towards the prairie brothers, who could only laugh as the redhead stumbled along with the mug in his hand. The big dopey grin on slightly pink face could only mean a good thing. They could smell the beer on his breath and see the laughter in his eyes. For that moment, they were glad he had briefly forgotten about his troubles and had a good time.

"Had enough, Joel?" Ilan asked, finishing the rest of his drink, a sign that it was almost time to go.

Joel glanced at the clock, but for all he could tell, the numbers were letters and the lines were curves. The alcohol was beginning to take over rather well. He frowned at the shapes and figures, but then turned back to the two with a pout. A grown man pouting really made his two companions smile wide.

"One more dance? Please? The three of us?" he begged, and with that pout and trying puppy dog eyes, how could they say no. They made their way back into the crowd with smiles on their faces and another round of drinks.

From the satchel that Joel kept around his waist, now tucked in by the foot of Ilan's barstool, the sound of his ringtone was drowned out by the patrons and their noise. From the receiver side, a troubled blonde was trying to contact Joel. The blonde's roommate had gone into a substance withdrawal on top of the fact that the child they were looking after hadn't returned from her breath of fresh air. But Joel was too busy having fun to notice, and had lack of control of over his self. The night dragged on into the early hours of the morning when the fun started to die down and the beverages had taken to their blood streams and their heads. It was starting to lull when a tipsy Ilan called it quits, a slightly smashed Ralph aiding a completely hammered Joel in even the simplest act of walking.

"Honestly..I…I wuv ye guys." Joel blabbered on their walk back. "But like, I'm not gay. I mean, I have a wife and all."

Ilan and Ralph laughed, the fellow redhead returning the statement back to Joel who smiled warmly at the prairie boys. They returned him safely back to his apartment, resting comfortably on the double bed, his wife already fast asleep. Owen must've let the woman go, even though she kept their blankets and the Manitoban's toque. Joel snuggled closer to his wife, draping his arm over her gently. They left the couple to enjoy their sleep.

As they were going down the stairs, the blonde prairie boy noticed his companion's lingering stare at the second floor apartment. The door was locked, and there was no movement inside – the tenant living there was at 'work', and both of them knew that.

"Let's go to the Cat's MeWow." Ralph told the yellow eyed with as innocent a smile as he could muster. Ilan frowned, but nodded anyway, not knowing what the Albertan was really up to. He knew they had no business at the stripper joint (aside from Ralph's insistence of seeing a show for once, because _come on, we haven't seen one in ages, Ilan!_) but for the sake of a little fun, why not? He could always say that he was really drunk when questioned, it'd at least provide cover for him. That, and Ralph wouldn't have let him live it down and would call him prude up until he got married and even after. He sighed, and laughed as he was being dragged down the stairs and back out onto the street again. Next thing he knew, he was already inside the loud and neon lit room that their district called the Cat's MeWow.

The music was thunderous, the beats rocking into their core. The singer's voice was evocative, even as the ever more suggestive "Van" walked out of back stage to stand in one of the upper ledges of the show's theater space. Clad completely in colors of black and red, the girl hooks her leg onto the railing as the spotlight dawns onto her. She smiles confidently, adjusting her headset's microphone with her hand, nimble fingers trailing down the outline of her body as she sang her lyrics. Precociously balancing on her stick thin high heel stiletto boots, she walked down the stairs to the center stage where a silver pole stood gleaming. Ilan noticed how her attire wasn't revealing at all. Her shirt was tight – that was a give in but it was also black and synthetic leather whilst laced loosely across her back, black skirt hanging loosely from her waist, revealing a strip of her skin. Fingerless lace up gloves and boots to match completed her ensemble, but she was unlike the rest of the strippers who were under clothed and almost all skin. Van danced dangerously slow, focusing especially on the song lyrics. It didn't mean that she didn't make her dance any more racy than the rest of the women, much to the Manitoban's distaste. The brunette flirted with the ones at the front row, tucking their easily spent money into her shirt, even going so far as to take one of the patron's hand just to touch her breast and take the green paper which his meaty palm clung onto with her.

Okay, she was good at her job.

When it hit the chorus, she stood up from her flirts, the crowd wanting more than just the teasers. The brunette visibly rips her clothing from her body to reveal her undergarments made of the same colors, first her shirt, followed by her skirt, corresponding to the beats of her music, acting out the lyrics as she said them. The brunette ran a hand through her hair ruffling it as she continued to perform. The pole had become the center part of her world, making her twists and turns, wrapping her legs around it and letting go of her hands. The crowd didn't stop the cat calling, especially now that they had an eye on her full figure. Nimble and cat like, brown eyes glancing around the shadows, she took the money from awaiting hands, grace and poise every step of the way. Those who were present to ogle at Van felt the song didn't last long enough. Unknown to many though, she had noticed a redhead and a blonde in the distance, especially those brightly lit yellow eyes that didn't stray from her frame.

As soon as she was off the stage, a vampire like raven haired placed a black coat over her. He kissed her fiercely, pulling her body close to his. Brown eyes peeked to see yellow ones pull away and walk out. She smirked into the kiss.

* * *

**A/N: **Woooo. What did we get ourselves into. Okay. So this is more of a bridging chapter than anything, a lot of it has to do with causing heavy misfortune on the characters who are very much weighed down by the ordeal. They're like family, you know.

And yes for the awesome two part cameo of Halifax and Vancouver, whose names I made up completely. Don't hate me. As much as I love history, naming characters are not my forte, and they definitely deserve better names than the ones I gave them.

We have:  
**Halifax: **George Edward Richmond  
**Vancouver: **Francis Joseph "Van" Fraser

I will be posting up the first chapter of "La Vie Boheme Side B" as soon as I am able, and also starting the "High School Pact" (which no one knows about hahah) and a teaser prologue for "Comment Tu T'appelle?" on top of this, so I have a lot of writing to do.  
And Ottawa, dearest  
(I have nowhere else to reply so: ) I am very much aware of the historical and naming inaccuracies of "Our Will to Live", however, I refuse to amend any of the mistakes I have made. This is partially because the story is complete, partially because that's a lot of heavy editing, and also because it was completed three years ago, as the time stamp says. Though I appreciate you reading, don't get me wrong. It's just the fact that 14 year old me wrote that stupid story, and as much as I want to erase it, it shows progress. (It also shows a very noob novelist and weaboo hetalian, but believe me, I've grown up a lot more) So there's my two cents, please don't hurt me, I was and am an idiot, I know.

**This chapter is dedicated to:  
**ffn: flightypilot and Ottawa

Because such supporters deserve dedications, okay? Okay. Happy face.

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	10. Of Pancakes and Disappearances

**Chapter Ten: Of Pancakes and Disappearances**

There was an excited squeal coming from the fourth floor and the first floor simultaneously. This is not usually a surprise to the complex and its neighboring buildings, but it was always freaky how in sync the squeals were.

"The pancake man's here!"

Benjamin was fumbling with his coat and hat, his mother assisting him with a laugh. The New Brunswicker looked paler, thinner, visibly weakened by the ordeal of last night, but she put on a brave smile for her son and watched him trundle down the stairs, one hand and foot at a time. She said the usual, _be careful and bring me a pancake, if you can _to which the Newfoundlander smiled and said he would. Nanook was waiting at the foot of the stairs just as excited as the blonde who smiled even though his breathing was heavy and troubled.

"Are you two ready for pancakes?" Emily asked them softly, holding out her mitten covered hands for them to hold. They took it with enthusiasm to march out and see a blond in a red jersey with a white maple leaf emblem who wheeled along a cooking cart with 'pancakes' written in loopy script.

"Hello again, Nanook, Ben!" he greeted cheerfully, firing up the portable stove on the cart, and pouring batter on it. They talked idly as he cooked, the two children asking him if he had been on any adventures lately. He enamored them with a tale about dealing with his half brother from the evil corporation and how he and Francis, the best coffeemaker in Aurora Borealis, fought his advances with pancakes and burgers. Emily laughed. Hearing one of Matthew's gallant tales on Pancake Tuesday always made for a good dose of mirth in such a dreary environment. Even though the boy himself was struggling to make a living, being shouldered by a friend as his career in sugary treats is on hold, he took aside a day where he would make pancakes for those less fortunate than him. One day, he aspires to own a pastry shop specializing in donuts, pancakes and crepes with Francis who said he would work there in a heartbeat. The Northwest Territorian gave him some coins for his troubles, tips from work that she didn't necessarily need but could give away. He went on his merry way down the road for his morning routine, and be back again next week.

"Papa! I brought pancakes, I brought pancakes!"

The Nova Scotian chuckled as his son came bouncing into their apartment, holding up his paper plate of pancakes dripping in maple syrup, just the way the little blonde liked it. Though his head was pounding and the noise was too loud, he bore through it well, grinning as Benjamin showed him his plate of treats for the week.

"I got four! I got one for me, one for mama, and one for you, and one for Tante - Auntie Anne-"

_Anne._

The blue eyed woman looked at her husband with a horrified expression, a sudden realization settling heavy on them. Anne hasn't returned to the apartment yet, even when her usual routine calls for arriving in the early hours of the morning. It was weird of her to stay over this late in the apartment next door seeing as the sun was already high up in the sky. Joel was quick to check. For some reason, he had an unsettling feeling in his stomach, and a haze of last night.

Did he miss a call? He did. He remembers vaguely Ilan telling him to take the call when he woke up. The redhead goes to check his cell phone, and sure enough there were enough bombardments for the Nova Scotian to just drop dead then and there.

"Anne's missin', and Jean and Oliver have gone out lookin' for her."

"'Ave they returned?" Marie asked, her voice heavy with concern, readying Joel's coat. It wasn't like she could stop him from searching for his half sister. She knew he wouldn't stop until he found her.

"Dun, think so, luv, no." he replied, taking the coat from his wife with a fleeting yet grateful smile. Worry was flooding through his veins as much as regret did, much like the alcohol that lulled him into a state of false happiness. He should've never let the prairie boys take him to the bar; he had priorities much higher than drinking himself into a stupor. Now, Anne was missing, and it was all his fault.

Benjamin put down the plate on the kitchen counter. He demanded that he join his father in search for his aunt but of course, despite the rush, his father bent down on one knee and told him that he shouldn't come. Even though the little one protested for a while more, the explanation that Joel needed someone very important to protect his mother sufficed for him, and he stayed as his father requested. But worry was heavy in the apartment, and just as heavy in the eyes of those who called it home, and it didn't take more than a breath for the redhead to leave to begin his search.

A certain Yukoner who just returned from her job as an after twilight cleaner heard the noisy thuds of Joel's footsteps as he rushed down the stairs. She opened the door to pop her head out looking confused and for an explanation, until he hurriedly said that Anne was missing. She volunteered to help him, as soon as Nanook was dropped off at the fourth floor apartment. A change of babysitting for once, even though they all knew this would screw up their schedule more than anything. But that wasn't important, a human life was at stake. God knows what kind of trouble the girl had gotten into, and in these parts of town, trouble lurked in every visible and invisible corner. Joel was thankful for all the help he could get.

It didn't take long for them to spill out into the street in differing directions, calling the Prince Edward Islander's name.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter is a tad shorter than the previous ones, just barely skimming over my 1,000 word chapter goal, but it made it, and after editing it, I am quite happy with the outcome despite it's shortness.

So yeah, little PEI is missing, sounds fun. Believe it or not, this is actually just a plot device / filler meant to bond them together. Have I failed? The reason why I am telling its origins is because I have, yes, I have failed. My muses have been arguing on who's turn is it to have me, so currently my drawing muses own my ass leaving this to the purgatory block of writing.

So yeah, have this little shit.

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	11. A Search By Day

**Chapter Eleven: A Search By Day**

Jean's bleeding nose was a result of Joel's anger towards losing his precious sister, of which the Québécois accepted gracefully and without a word. It was true, it was her fault that he had lost her, he should've never let the redhead out for a breath of fresh air, and now they were stuck in this predicament, not knowing whether she would return or whether she was safe. Oliver defended the ash brunette, even though the Québécois remained silent throughout the argument. It only quelled when Kate arrived and small as she was, held Joel back with a strong grip.

"He didn't do it on purpose." She reasoned, tightening her hold against Joel's arms, who squirmed to be free to strike Jean until he was satisfied.

"We searched all night. At least she's not on the street. She may have found some help-"

"And where would a lass like her find help?! In a brothel!? Did ye ever stop t' think about how old she is!?" Joel yelled through angry tears. Not knowing what else to say, Oliver backed down and accepted defeat, just as Joel tore from Kate's grip.

"If she ain't alright, I'm blaming ye two." He sneered as he went on his way, the Yukoner following close behind. She defended the two men who stayed up all night searching the streets and alleyways, asking restaurant staff and blowing off their jobs just so they know that Anne was safe, even though their search proved fruitless. They meant no harm, really – a little breather would've been nice for Anne after what happened last night. All of this meant nothing to the Nova Scotian, although he was secretly pinning the blame on himself. If he didn't go out drinking, even if he was forced to, maybe she'd be okay.

He stopped in his tracks and sighed, the brunette almost bumping into him.

"I just want her home." He muttered glumly, and the Yukoner nodded in sympathy, continuing their search.

But Oliver huffed indignantly as soon as he and Jean had gotten back into their one bedroom apartment, slamming the door behind him, far too angry to let his body rest after a night of tiresome walking. He ranted and raved of how Joel could be so insensitive and the fact that he didn't appreciate the effort they put in on bringing her back. In his suddenly stifled annoyance, he started to doubt his own words, slowing with hesitation. His face showed concern, glancing over at Jean to reinforce that his words were true. But the Québécois just lit up his cigarette in contempt and refused to look him in the eye.

"But he's right." The ash brunette simply said, exhaling the smoke. Though he played it off coolly, Oliver could see through his lies, having seen this in their arguments before. He recognized the look of self-pity on Jean, something that the Québécois loathed, his pride getting the better of him. Although the Ontarian didn't say anything, he wrapped his arms around Jean. That was enough to say that though their efforts were futile, they had done all they could.

The Nova Scotian hadn't though. He hadn't done everything he could. He circled the part of the districts that the two men hadn't, asking around if they have seen a little girl in a green dress. Most people shook their head and said no, others offered to call around to see if anyone has sighted her, whilst others wished him the best of luck. But the sun began to descend and with that, every inch of luck with it. Joel went back by himself, dismayed and tired. He guessed he'd return to searching tomorrow, maybe combing through the lower avenues and some of the shop floors. He just hoped that Anne was safe, wherever the hell she was.

Out of the corner of his eye during the solemn trudging on his way home, he spotted three shadows. Immediately, he picked up the pace, although tried to make it seemed he didn't notice. He was just a simple man eager to get home before the lights were out, nothing more to hide from here. The redhead kept his breathing low, though his walk was casual, carefully timing every step. The shadows moved ever closer, the silhouettes becoming three bulk men in the wake of the light.

"I haven't got any money." Joel snarled, asserting what little dominance he really had over the situation. Feeling trapped in the alleyway he was cornered in, he had no choice but to fight his way out. Judging by the combined physique versus his own, he did not stand a chance.

* * *

**A/N: **Excuse my absence, excuse the short chapter. There are many reasons for this. One, SUSPENSE. Two, I just started my third 10 week semester at school, and already I'm swamped with so much to do. August rolling around means my social calender is also swamped, and sleep is still as nonexistent as it ever was. Hopefully, I can post at least once a week, and get around to remember it. Haha.

So yeah, that's all I've got to say, see you next week? [Wednesday Evening +12GMT/NZST] I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it's so short!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	12. A Search By Night

**Chapter Twelve: A Search By Night**

Marie looked over at the setting sun, just as Kate burst through the door with a certain redhead in tow. The blonde was all over the little girl within seconds.

"Anne! Oh, we were so worried about you." She could barely choke out, overcome with such relief that her sister-in-law wasn't harmed during her absence. The Prince Edward Islander couldn't say anything at that point, a plethora of feelings raging through her. If anger still existed for being betrayed and brought back to the one thing she was meant to protect, it was overshadowed by the guilt and sorrow. She mumbled her 'sorry', although wished that she didn't have to return even if it was against their will. The little girl just wanted to so badly to help, but instead, she caused more misfortune. She promised never to do it again, as long as it made them feel better. Marie tightened her grip around the little girl's frame.

Kate explained that the girl had been wandering the Afternoon market, lost beyond belief. How the girl managed to get as far as there, she would never say but brought her back home as soon as she heard what had happened. But all of it didn't matter, Anne was back, Anne was safe, Anne was home. Benjamin joined his mother in the hug, and blabbered on about how happy he was and how he saved her a pancake but then Labrador ate it and he'll make it up to her somehow. Right then, Anne realized the many reasons why she couldn't run away anymore. She was needed here.

But there was one person missing.

As Anne looked out to the setting sun, something unsettling in her stomach, she asked the question in a quiet voice. Her brother, where was he? Out looking for her was the reply, and instantly Anne wanted to tear back out on the street. No, Joel would never be out this late, he would come home at this hour, something was wrong. He wouldn't keep his family waiting, even if Anne was out there by herself. She's not anymore though, she was here and alive, and oh god what if something happened to Joel.

"We have to go back out there. Bruthe', he could be in trouble!" she cried, racing towards the door. Benjamin tugged at her pinafore and pleaded for her not to leave again. Dismayed and confused, she stood still in her tracks, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks as she blamed herself for everything. If she hadn't ran away, she cried, if she just stayed put, then her brother wouldn't be out there. Worried and yet assuring blue eyes glanced up to Kate's brown orbs, who nodded and swore that she would find Joel and soon. She went downstairs, aided in her search by the tenants of the third floor who overheard the commotion. They had each other's back, it was a promise they made when they began living here.

Joel had found himself in a tight spot with his assailants, fists and arms up and on guard, while one of the shadows pulled out a baseball bat from behind him. He stood no chance before, now he really stood no chance, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to go out without a fight. He wasn't the one who threw the first punch or swing, but he dodged both with a little difficulty, throwing his own counterattack. Right in the jaw of one of them, but the man with the bat swung and hit Joel, causing him to topple to the ground. He glared from the concrete, and waited for the next blow.

From behind the shadows came three more, the bat wielder pulled into a headlock and then cast aside. He grunted and spat on the ground, then taking off before he got another swift beating. The rest of the hoodlums followed with their metaphorical tail between their legs. Joel looked up to see his savior.

Owen was there with his hand stretched outward, a kind grip which the Nova Scotian took with gratefulness for his fellow tenant. He thanked them – Owen, Ralph, Ilan and Kate – for all their help. He really couldn't be here without their help. They walked home all smiles, but Joel frowned when they arrived at the complex.

Standing in front of the main door was Anne, head cast down, hands gripping tightly on her skirt. She knew what was coming, and it did come. It took Joel all he had not to literally slap some sense in to the poor girl as he berated her for her careless actions. The little redhead knew she was deserving of the scolding, but she did not know she was deserving of a hug.

Her brother was on his knees holding her close, and for a moment the Prince Edward Islander did not know how to react until she felt tears streaming down her face. Apologies poured from her mouth, one after the other until Joel hushed her with soft tones, kissing her forehead and running his calloused hands through her hair to soothe her until her cries died into hiccups.

"I'm just glad you're okay…" he whispered. Anne sniffled and buried her head in her brother's shoulder, trying to stop the flow of tears.

* * *

**A/N: **Hello again loves! It's another Wednesday for me, so here is the second part of the "Searches" pieces. Obviously, it's the last piece, so yay.

I do apologize, I haven't been feeling like myself lately, and school has this _magical_ way of affecting me, on top of bogging me down with assignments and projects. I have to study for an assessment tonight, and then do research for art and shit that you probably aren't too interested in. Hencewhy, there is so much delay in even getting a chapter up for La Vie Boheme. And for that, I sincerely apologize.

In other news, everything will be okay soon enough, just as soon as I finish studying for R.E, and hand in my History assessment due Friday. Oh and survive art class with the dragon lady. Hm.

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	13. A Family Moment

**Chapter Thirteen: A Family Moment**

Clad in black and white and an annoyed expression, the waiter halts them from entering the venue even further.

"You know you can't come in here without purchasing something. Remember? No loitering." He said, although his tones were apologetic. Jean smiled sadly, remembering the day the owner put up the 'no loitering' sign in big bold letters on the receptionist's stand. The man had figured out that they and a few others had been using the Aurora Borealis as a place to meet up and hang about for hours, resulting in an unconscious effort of freeloading. Ever since then, dining in at their favorite place was difficult, despite the cheap prices.

"Can't you slide us in, Philippe?" Jean whispered in his mother tongue, a language that not many in the city understood. Though Parisian French was commonly learnt and spoken, Québécoise wasn't, giving the two some leverage in secrecy. The brunette shook his head, frowning. He said he would if he could, but the last time he let Maurice and Sam slide cost him a week's pay and a concussion. Someone should report this _kind _employer of theirs, Jean knew that as he gritted his teeth, but it was a steady income for many people here in Snow City, including his friends. Philippe apologized in plain English and wished them the best.

"We can stay." Oliver stated with a smug grin, holding up cash between his fingers. Jean blinked with shock like the rest of them, even as Oliver led them in to the central unoccupied tables. Although they were told not to move the tables, they did so anyway, forming a long rectangle of which they could all sit around like a family. That's what they were right then – a family. After Anne's return and the multitude of apologies that ensued, they decided it was high time they had a family type meal of some sort. It had been weeks since they last did so, Victoria's birthday to be exact. As usual, money had been a great factor, and it was rare for them to be able to dine at the Aurora Borealis. Philippe just laughed as they moved the tables, knowing he would've done the same in their situation as he turned back to face the door.

They dined. They dined happily in their group, ordering menu meals of one offs and saving a little bit of extra by keeping to water. Even though their meal was a luxury in itself, the treat was made special just for the fact that they were all together like this, chatting about, lazing, laughing loudly and most likely embarrassing one another on the off occasion. This was what life for them was about. It wasn't about the money, it was about the fervor of life and creation, about sharing their passion for dreaming of a much better world than the one they currently lived in. In short, it was about love and for them, love was all they need.

"How could you afford this on such short notice?" a pondering Yukoner asked. For a moment all eyes were on Oliver who they thanked earlier for the chance of a good meal. The blonde seemed to have shrunk in his seat, eyes cast down as he mumbled something incomprehensible. The brunette beside him began to look concerned. He repeated his words a little louder.

"I got a paycheck from Star News. I took the job and handed in my script."

Jean stood up with his hands slamming on the table, shaking the cutlery and dinner plates.

"After I told you not to!?" he exclaimed, voice trembling. Hazel eyes looked over Oliver who shrunk in his seat even more than he did, mumbling more under his breath. The Québécois threatened him to say more, of which the blonde responded. He had to do it, he explained, his voice getting louder the more he spoke, blue eyes set ablaze in retaliation. Jean pointed out that he didn't have to, and of course, knowing that he was right, Oliver retaliated with the control freak excuse. That, both of them knew, wasn't true, Jean was just overprotective but no one spoke that. No one else said anything as they argued, the couple – or were they really a couple; no one was sure either – both on their feet, at eye level. The intensity of their dispute resulted in Jean storming out of the restaurant, Oliver on his heels with guilt written all over his face. The rest leave the eatery in silence after the two, their meals half unfinished.

"We should leave those two to it." said Victoria with a defeated sigh, the others nodding to her statement. The two sisters, Joel and his family decided it was a good point to retreat for the night to rest and recharge. A long day of many struggles had drained them of anything to keep them going, and out of everyone, Joel probably needed the most sleep. Kate said her 'see ya laters' to her roommate, hugging her and hugging Nanook too. They waved goodbye as the Yukoner joined Victoria and the Prairie Boys who came to a decision to go bar hopping.

The neon glow of the district began to flicker on, announcing its daily openings to the sleaze of the public. Out of everyone, Victoria liked the night life the most, having spent almost every night out in the open like this. She inhaled deeply, a warm smile breaking out of her face. This was her element, whilst Kate felt uncomfortable in the cool night. She wasn't one to be as bold as the British Columbian in the evening, but her comfort zone was definitely in the morning light.

The Albertan placed his arms on the back of his head, relaxed and posed as they continued their walk. Owen had his arm draped over Ilan's, the other mumbling something about refusing to take alcohol this time and being vigilant, especially with what happened last time. The Saskatchewanian laughed and with a kind smile told the redhead it really couldn't have been helped. Ralph rolled his eyes, he and Ilan were thinking the same things – they really could've have prevented Anne's prolonged disappearance. A drink or two should calm their frazzled nerves, and if Victoria was treating them, who were the freeloaders to deny the girl. It wasn't as if she was offering, either, she was almost forcing them. Company was nice, none of them could deny that and tonight, company was available. Broke as they were, they needed something to cheer them up from the dreary events of the entire day and what other perfect way to do it than to get drunk and make stupid choices.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry! This had been written a week ago, but because of unfortunate circumstances and never having my laptop on hand, (being the busy asshat that I am) this has been delayed for at least 24 hours. But! Thankfully, I managed to snag some time to upload it before it gets forgotten again.

So yes, a family meal! Interesting, can you tell I lost the plot? Never mind it, I got it back again and though it plays for nothing but a filler right now, it makes a great chapter for the upcoming tension. Mmmm, I love the taste of tension on a good night with a cup of coffee and biscuits.

Anyway, before I am whisked away, I'd like to thank everyone for sticking with me thus far! It's been awesome, and see you guys in the next chapter!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	14. Reciprocation is a Pain

**Chapter Fourteen: Reciprocation is a Pain**

It didn't occur to the group of five just how strange it were that most clubs down the boulevard were composed of one or two words, without including 'The'. They had passed places like "The Cannibal", "The National", "Avenue Q" and "the Red Windmill" – the latter being the one they eventually entered at Victoria's request. The club wasn't bad, although one couldn't judge easily due to the level of darkness. On one side, the bar lazily lined one region of the boundaries of the dance floor, residing near the back floor. The alcohol bottles were displayed variously with a neon red backlight, the shelves they were placed on a sleek black. The counters were also modeled in futuristic curves, like the ones on screensavers on cell phones, the bend of the counter highlighted by the rouge. It was the first thing someone noticed as they entered the club, even though the dance floor took most of the vision space. The DJ booth was tucked into the corner next to the bar, the wires leading around the boundaries of the floor to form a surround sound system, thankfully away from the drinks. Most of the lights were derived from the ground with its ever changing colors, although the walls were lined with shades of red lights as well.

Victoria made quick work of the dance floor and stepped her way to the bar, her four friends in tow. She flashed her brightest smile, immediately nestling herself to the counter in front of the night's bartender. Ilan instantly recognized him as the man from the Cat's MeWow. The very same man who kissed the British Columbian fiercely and left him feeling confused about himself. Now he figured out why she was smiling so bright.

The brunette loops an arm around the raven haired man's neck. He contorts himself to suit the reach around, ducking under Victoria's arm, though staying under her hold. He continued to pour the cranberry juice into the shaker. She giggles, and with a fond mischievous grin said, "Guys, this is my knight and our savior of the night, Francis Joseph Fraser."

"Van." He corrected her fondly, holding out his free arm to shake their hands, of which it was gladly taken in politeness. Francis – _Van _– held a cool pace about him, a slightly laid back attitude and a kind smile. Victoria rolled her eyes with a flutter of eyelashes, though returned the look with a smile of her own, eyeing her fellow British Columbian with eager brown eyes.

Of course, he was wearing his usual black shirt, his red undershirt showing as a black sleeve dipped past his shoulder. The red tie tucked neatly underneath headphones that coiled around his neck matched the color scheme of red and black, even the little accented ribbon on his shirt. Polite yellow eyes acknowledged waiting conversation. He moved himself from Victoria's hold and shifts to pour the drink of a waiting woman in a crop top and fishnet stockings, despite the weather.

"What can I get you guys? My treat." He offered, cleaning his shaker to be used again. Victoria motioned for her usual Cosmopolitan, a fruity tart drink mixed with vodka and triple sec whilst Kate just asked for the vodka and cranberry mix, sitting herself down onto the bar stool with a hint of shyness. When prompted to dance by Victoria, she declined with a smile. She felt so underdressed for the occasion, and wished she had changed into something a little more flattering than a polo shirt, long shorts and boots. Maybe when the alcohol kicks in, she'd lose all shame and join the floor in drunken enthusiasm but while she was still aware of her senses, it had been a good idea to sit the sidelines. The Saskatchewanian joined her, asking politely for a scotch and cola before sliding into the seat next to her. Ralph had already downed his scotch to move straight to dance, the brunette night owl close by. Though there were many people, it wasn't hard to find them despite the only light source being heavy red undertones. Victoria moved with such grace, Ralph beside her, a hand up in the air pumping to the solid beat of the music. Absentmindedly, Owen smiled, even though this was noticeable to Kate and Ilan.

Ilan couldn't help but smirk as he downed his drink in one go, the ice tinkling as he put the glass down on the counter. Francis was quick to refill it, even if Ilan did not touch it. He refused to drink more after last time. His bright inquisitive eyes glanced towards a high spirited Ralph, letting out a holler as he moved to the beat. Those same eyes returned to Owen's blue gaze still focused on the Albertan.

"You should just ask him." He said across the Yukoner who looked up at Owen. The man was interrupted from his hazy daydream, slinking back into reality with a sulk. Ralph wouldn't feel the same, he muttered almost under his breath, but despite the degree of noise, Ilan heard him just fine. The redhead almost scolded him, rolling his eyes and calling him a coward. Who knows, he had said, who knows how Ralph felt about him. The brunette between the two prairie boys knew enough from Ilan's occasional rant to her just how mixed up their feelings were in a blender. The Manitoban had tried to get them together many times, but failed on enough occasions to resort to idly waiting for them to see through their thick love stricken tragic daze to realize their feelings were reciprocated. God knows how long that would be. Kate sighed and took a sip from her drink, feeling an odd trickle of familiarity in her gut. She knew how Owen felt, she had been meaning to get the courage to ask Emily out for a long time. A stark fear of rejection or misinterpretation on top of losing what they had if the feelings were not returned always made one play on the safe side. She was happy with what she had, despite yearning for more. Those thoughts in its own entity made for a reassuring smile from Kate to Owen, who smiled back in return. _Take your time, forget about Ilan's jackassery_, it basically said. That was enough for the platinum blonde to be okay for a little while longer.

Ralph suddenly appeared by them, shoulders rising and falling with his breathing, cheeks tinted pink by a combination of the atmosphere, the drinks and the dancing. His hands found their way to Owen's, pulling him towards the dance floor with a bright teeth flashing smile. Ilan raised the blonde a thumbs up and a daring glare whilst Kate waved them off. The ambiance of the situation seemed to lighten slightly as Owen joined Ralph and Victoria.

"I wish they'd just get together." Ilan shook his head, absentmindedly running his thumb over the smooth surface of his refilled glass. The ice had melted somewhat, watering the drink to a light tint, but he could care less. He was more concerned over his best friends tormenting themselves when it could easily be solved with three or four simple words. If only he wasn't sworn to secrecy without being found out.

"They will in their own time." The Yukoner reassured, finishing her drink with a light flourish. The redhead knew her words to be true, but it still didn't ease the situation as much as he'd like. He nodded as an acknowledgement, flashing her a small grin.

"And you and Em; how's that going?" he asked. Immediately the brunette sunk in her seat. Of course she was getting nowhere. They've been so busy working overtime for Nanook and barely have ten or twenty minutes to each other before they'd change shifts. A decent tête-à-tête was impossible, especially in light of the recent days. The Manitoban almost immediately regretted asking, but it was certainly a good link between Owen and Ralph. She replied with a downcast sigh, stirring the ice in her drink with a toothpick absentmindedly, mumbled excuses like, _Emily was too busy thinking about Nanook to give a chance at love _or _there's really no connection between them. _The worst was when she said that with the way Emily acted, she couldn't possibly even like Kate as more than a friend.

That was the last straw for Ilan. Even though he himself could not be a flurry of more emotions, especially with Victoria on his mind more than ever, he had played it off coolly in the limelight, sticking to his signature expression as to not let anyone in. No one knew. No one knew that he knew exactly how Kate and Owen felt with giving things a chance. But why give it a chance when it was certainly fruitless? The expression, 'you never know until you try', only left room for fear more than an optimistic remark, for the topic of love in particular. That was a dangerous game, and in some cases, it was better not to play. He let Kate lean on him, her tears staining his dust navy jersey, as he wrapped his arms around the poor girl, stroking her brunette locks. Sometimes a good cry is all someone needed, and he was okay with being the guinea pig for it, reassuring Kate that things would work out, just as it would with Owen and Ralph. The Yukoner was never one to let her emotions out to just anyone, particularly those involving bitter tears. She was strong girl who didn't need emotions to run rampant in her life.

Victoria knew that. The number of people Kate relied on could be counted on fingers, and now Ilan was one of them. From the corner of her eye, she had been watching them the entire time, could see the two of them and their moment in the dim red light, casting a glow that struck a chord with the British Columbian. Somewhere in her soul, she felt a cry, a pang of unknown rage fueling in her gut. There was nothing going on between her and the antsy redhead. It's not like she really cared for him, he was an idle play toy to pass the time. So then why on earth was she feeling so jealous of their heart to heart?

* * *

**A/N:** This is here early this week because I have mock exams this week and need to study desperately. I really need good grades this year, I've worked too hard to lose it all to a social life and hobby, therefore, for a week I am shutting down. I do apologize for the mess in time schedules, but school is important to me, no matter how much I don't seem to look that.

Further more, I am still three chapters ahead anyway, so it's still there, I just won't have much chance in front of a computer since I'll be hitting the books. Wish me luck!

Anyway, on brighter news. Hopefully, I am going to be starting two new stories tonight and posting the chapters up as well. I just hope I also have time to go back to my other stories to write them since they've been gathering data dust.

Anywho, thank you all who read this, it is a pleasure to write for you! Leave reviews, please! I really want to hear what you guys think about the story (and it helps motivate me even more)

Until the next chapter, lovelies! See you soon~!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


	15. Don't Trust Her

**Chapter Fifteen: Don't Trust Her**

Minutes before, he was inside the warm yet sickly humid red atmosphere of the Red Windmill. Now he found a new sort of warmth, on his lips, snaking around his body, pressing him up against the wall outside of the club – a dusty brick that was crumbling in some places. But never mind that, his attention was on the brunette with the smell of alcohol on her breath and the well versed tongue. Her fingers were nimble across his frame, practiced and so sure of what to do, in comparison to his clumsy advances. Maybe the drinks were finally taking a hold of his brain. He lost count after the fifth one, of which then he suspected he had downed more after much encouragement from his peers. He couldn't help but smile as her hands rested on the back his neck, his around her waist. As a daring move, he pulled her closer, the response was a hearty giggle slurred by alcohol and cranberry juice.

Earlier she had been in a fit of jealous rage, silently fuming to herself when Kate finally cracked a smile with the Manitoban grinning beside her, a laugh escaping his lips. Why would she, Victoria the sly cat, the unpredictable mystery, be so jealous? As she repeated to herself many times over, she's just wiling the hours away by playing with Ilan's mind. Why him? Out of all the people in the complex, in the world even, why the Riel kid with the never changing facial expression? Because he was a prick, that's why. There was no other way to put it except for the fact that ever since they've crossed paths all he's ever done is cause her misery and now she's just getting him back. Apparently misery took many forms, because even if he did fall like a pawn on the chessboard, she had no control of her game. Jealousy tapped her shoulder and held her tight, even when she firmly recalled that it was just a pastime to entertain her until she merged into a new crowd. The green eyed monster had other plans for her, however inconvenient they were to brunette. So, after feeling the bitter liquid slide down her throat for the umpteenth time that evening, stupid courage bubbled up to whisper sweet nothings to her self confidence aptly affecting her sudden change in demeanor.

Owen and Ralph both blinked and worriedly looked at each other for a moment when Victoria sidled up to Ilan, and in the shadows dragged him out of the back door, her hand firmly clutching the fabric of his jersey. However, this was promptly forgotten when Ralph tugged Owen towards the bathrooms. Kate's attention was turned to Francis- err, Van.

"Is that normal?" she asked, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Francis raised a shoulder in shrug, finishing a Long Island Ice Tea with a fruit flourish as he handed it over to a woman in white and pastel colored hair who winked at him and 'accidentally' left her napkin behind. Yellow eyes idly glanced at the print left on the paper, even as he slipped it from the counter to the trash can under his station. Kate only looked at him with narrow eyes.

"It's Vic, what can you do?" was his reply framed in a question, and for a moment, Kate had to ponder exactly what it meant. It was true with the British Columbian, one couldn't tell what she would do next, but it's to be expected that it will be an outrageous request. Pulling Ilan out of the bar for god knows what was exactly that, something she wouldn't do. She loathed that Manitoban for the majority part. The one or two percent in the minority may have explained why the two of them were outside, but for anyone who knew Victoria shallowly, they would've thought she was crazy or desperate.

"Still, isn't she your girlfriend?" she asked with a tentative tone in her voice. For her fourth vodka and cranberry without forgetting to factor her height, weight and percentage of water in her body, she was holding her liquor well. Again, Francis gave his one shouldered shrug, although he put down the shaker this time.

"Girlfriend, benefiter, person I protect- It means the same to Vic." He said coolly, leaning forward to rest his head on pale hands. No one had approached for a drink, which was great. It meant ample time to explain to the even more perplexed Kate. Her hands were rested stiffly in her lap, as if it felt like Victoria was morally wrong, although who was she to judge.

He could only offer a sympathetic smile, elucidating the facts in such a plain manner as if reciting something out of a text book. He had met her while she was on the street, looking for a home without much but the clothes she wore and a backpack. They had dated for a while, but things started getting hazy when the young girl at the time found the dark side – the fun side to her – of the ordeal of living in a state of Bohemia. Now, Francis loved her like a sister, complying to her wishes. She turned to him for almost everything that she needed, and Francis provided most on the basis that it wouldn't kill her. Sex, alcohol, occasionally money to buy new clothes (though he suspected the real purpose otherwise), if he could fund it, then she'd get her hands on it. He became her body guard when she started working at the Cat's MeWow and received ample stalking notices and threats. He put up an intimidating façade of being her boyfriend when those times came. Even then, the lines between what are murkier than mud water. He had accepted that she was like a little sister to him and nothing more, but spoiling her was nothing out of reach.

"I'm just happy for her, really." He concluded with another gracious smile, putting down the cloth in his hand on the counter, the piece of fabric folded neatly even when it was grubby. It signaled the end of his shift, and Kate nodded to this, a sympathetic smile also on her face. He hung his apron on its hook beside the back door and walked out to see two silhouettes. He almost couldn't stop himself from laughing and breaking his composure. Victoria looked happier than she ever did, even if she had one too many shots. The redhead looked happier still. Yeah, he was sincerely happy that she was happy.

"Be careful." He waved nonchalantly as he passed them, stuffing his fists in his front pockets. A trance was suddenly broken as Victoria released her grip from Ilan and clung to her fellow British Columbian's arm, clumsily asking if she could stay the night. This left Ilan utterly confused, and maybe slightly jealous. Why he would be feeling that way, his brain wasn't quite processing it, but he felt the frown tug at his lips as the two walked away.

* * *

**A/N: **So...hm. It's all a _hmm_ kind of question isn't it? This begins the draaamaaa and I'm quite excited about the drama because angst and all that come into play. But more angst will come in later, when you guys read the next chapters!

However, in all seriousness, I apologize that this is a week long overdue, and that I should've submitted it yesterday as per agreed time, however, I was insanely busy (like usual, I didn't even get to sleep til 3am!) and so couldn't do said task. Still better late than never!

I think Kate and Ilan would be like, good friends, although that;s just my personal opinion, haha.

And also, Francis! Which is the name I gave to Vancouver because I couldn't think of anything decent to name the poor asshole.

Anyway, I hope you stick around for the rest of "La Vie Bohéme!" and enjoy reading the chapter!

**Disclaimers Apply**: Brain dribble fan fiction based on nonfiction. Nothing but the insane brain dribble is mine. Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya. Provinces and Territories of Canada designs belong to Sherry Lai (ctcsherry of deviantArt). Cities designs belong to their rightful owners on deviantArt (Misharoyuki, Clolymy, and Hapo57). The inspiration, RENT, belongs to Jonathan Larson. I do not take credit for any of the above, only the writing. Reviews are also much loved. Thank you! **~Angela Rosela**


End file.
